It's here? It's finally here? OH THANK YA SWEET JESUS, IT'S FINALLY HERE!!!! Every year, March rolls around and I think to myself, "Goddammit, where is the fucking draft already?" Yes, I know it's on the same weekend every year. But man oh man, does it take fucking forever to arrive.

It's been three full months without any football. Three long. shitty, rainy, cold months. I'd like to extend a hearty FUCK YOU to February, March and April, three months on the calendar that serve no purpose other than to slowly deprive me of my will to live. Especially you, April: with your half-sunny, half-rainy days, and your wild fluctuations in temperature. PICK A GODDAMN WEATHER PATTERN AND STICK WITH IT. I'm tired of needing a jacket in the morning, only to have the interior of my car hit 9000 degrees by the time I pull out of work.

I'd also like to extend a hearty FUCK YOU to people who snidely look down on the draft and on people who enjoy it. That means you, Mike Wilbon.

It's a nuisance, made-for-TV-by-TV event for people who couldn't tell a left tackle from a right guard, or zone from man-to-man coverage to save their mamas' lives.

Really? That's odd, because I've found that the draft is an event made specifically for people who can deduce such things. Like me! I know the difference between a left tackle and right guard. A left tackle plays on the LEFT! And has to protect the passer's blind side. And a right guard plays on the RIGHT! And sometimes has to pull! I knew that! Amazing, but true!

I also know that man-to-man coverage involves having the defensive player "cover" the offensive player one-on-one! Who would have thought a fan of the NFL might know basic things about the NFL? Surely, only a trained journalist could possibly know such things. And the biggest miracle of all is that I don't watch the telecast from my mother's basement!

Choke on Barkley's dick, Wilbon.

And you, Will Leitch! Yes you, you raging anti-draftite! You too can help yourself to a heaping spoonful of my dick milk. (Ed. Note: AGAIN?)

We were excited at the beginning, fooling ourselves into believing the recitation of names of people we don't know for four hours could be a scintillating experience, and watching Brady Quinn lose millions of dollars every 15 minutes kept our interest for a while too. But once he was drafted, we were out of steam and ready to watch, you know, actual sporting events where people run and jump and move around.

Well, aren't you just a little smartypants. Yes, I think it's just HI-larious how, every year, you (all one of you!) remind me that the draft is just the recitation of names. You really put the draft in its place. It's just names being listed! It's so clever how you boiled it all down to that! Don't I feel goofy now! I could attend the end of any college graduation, and it would be EXACTLY the same! How silly of me to actually care which players will be joining my team. Why don't you go listen to NPR and write something for McSweeney's, you fucking twee assfingerer.

Here's the thing, Leitch. Your favorite team plays 162 games every year (and this year, only 162). That gives you 162 chances to bust out your Ankiel doll and put on a 3-hour showing of "Leitch And The Real Rick." My favorite team plays 16 times a year. That's it. That's all I fucking get. Sixteen chances to get blotto and yell at Brad Childress for having Adrian fucking Peterson return kickoffs. So you'll excuse me if I find those names being recited just a tad important.

I'm well aware that no actual football is played during the draft. But it's not as if it's the only non-game sports programming in the world that people enjoy. No games are played on PTI. No games are played here on Deadspin. But who gives a fuck? They're still entertaining. Part of the reason I watch sports is so I can talk about them. And lo and behold! Here, before us, is a very long sporting event, which gives NFL fans like me lots and lots to talk about. Gee, I wonder if that might interest people?

So if you don't like the NFL Draft, and if you just can't possibly fathom how the unwashed masses could enjoy such a thing, please consider yourself cordially invited to stick your scrotum in a fucking Cuisinart. It's the NFL Draft, and this is your NFL Draft Jamboroo.

All aspects of the NFL Draft are evaluated for sheer watchability and or awesomeness on a scale of 1 to 5 Throwgasms.

Five Throwgasms

Cutting The Time Between Selections From 15 Minutes To 10: This year's draft starts at 3 p.m., three hours later than usual (BOOOOOOOO!!!!!!). But there is some good news. The NFL, at long last, has cut down the first round selection clock by 5 minutes. If Roger "The Ginger Hammer" Goodell leaves any legacy upon the league, apart from suspending all the black players, it will be this. The pace of the ceremony has been upgraded from glacial to downright slug-like. Whoa whoa whoa... stop this draft! It's all happening so not-quite-as-slow now! It's gone to plaid!

Mock Drafts: The Gregg Easterbrooks of the universe just adore telling you how pointless mock drafts are. "Why, those mock drafts never turn out to be 100 percent accurate, don't you know. (smells own fart)" That's not the point of mock drafts. The point of mock drafts is to let me know which players are currently meriting first round consideration, and to give me an approximate sense of where they're being slotted. That way, I can figure out which players I'd like my team to draft (Joe Flacco can throw far? That makes him way better than Tarvaris Jackson!), who I hope falls to them, etc.

Once I'm familiar with how the mock drafts are trending (apologies for that word, it's result of watching too much political coverage), I can then get into the drama of the real draft. I can express surprise should a player like Leodis McKelvin, whom I have never seen, slip down the board. I can cry out in disbelief should a player like Flacco go in the Top 15 ("Reeeaccchhhh!!!!").

You see, mock drafts help educate me, the fan. No, I haven't watched many of these players play football. It's just not feasible, given my schedule, and how much of that schedule is allocated for masturbation. That's why we have mock drafts. They're learning tools. And that's why I enjoy the draft itself. It's for learning. That's right, you anti-draftites. I'm the educated one! Plus, I get to drink and ignore house projects as I learn. And that's awesome.

Mel Kiper Jr.: After my team drafts a player, I rely on Mel to get me properly excited about his prospects. And what he needs to work on! What's that, Mel? He's got great agility? NICE. Excellent lateral movement? Fucking double nice. Bit of a tweener? Oh, I don't like the sound of that. But he's explosive off the edges?! (creams jeans)

Booing: Nothing beats a cocky young player being booed on the best day of his professional life. That'll knock you down a peg, Golden Boy. I also like it when the crowd lets out a collective, sarcastic laugh at a shitty pick. The Raiders took Sebastian Janikowski? BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! What a bunch of retards.

Watching The Entire Draft If You're A Fan Of The Cowboys: Are you a Dallas fan? Holy shit, are you in luck! The draft lasts a combined 17 hours or so, and ESPN spends, oh, about 16 of those hours TALKIN' BOUT DEM COWBOYS! NYEEEEHAWWWWW! THIS IS DOUBLE J'S DAY TO SHINE, CHUBBY RAIN!!! I, for one, welcome ESPN's efforts to turn the NFL into a one-team league. Look at the great job they did turning baseball into a two-team affair. God, if only the NFL could be just like that!

Morons.

Unfortunately, there won't be any Emmitt for this year's draft. Which is too bad, because I was crazy excited to hear him talk about a player's agulation, not to mention lazurus quickness, excellenteration, and overall dexatrim. Taking Matt Ryan at Number 3? That is a fucking Debalkanization!

The Draft As A Harbinger Of Spring: They say March 21 is the beginning of spring, but it's usually not until mid to late April when you start seeing the ladies around town rocking hot sundresses and strappy sandals, with their cleavage bouncing to and fro. Now THAT is spring, my friends. Those ladies are just so eager for warm weather, so happy to rid themselves of all those cumbersome winter clothes, that they merrily strip down to all but the bare essentials. Ladies, I support you wholeheartedly in such efforts. Let those puppies roam free!

Nothing beats sitting outside at a bar on a cold spring day and just watching the parade of lovely ladies pass by. I tell you, people-watching is 100 percent more awesome when there are tits out and about.

Highlights of Previous Draft Moments: Oh Jets, will you ever stop being clueless for drafting Jeff Lageman? Fuck and no. (Actually, Lageman turned out to be pretty good.)

Player Highlights: I don't give a fuck about interviewing the draftees after they've been selected. I DIDN'T DRAFT YOU TO TALK, BOY! I just want to watch the five-minute, Kiper-narrated highlight reel of you fucking shit up. Running. Jumping. Tackling. Exhibiting a callous disregard for your own body. That's good stuff.

Trades: Trades rule. I'm convinced people like Belichick trade constantly during the draft just so they can have something to do. Only thing that sucks about draft day trades is, once a trade is made, the draft clock gets fucking reset. GAHHHHHHH!!!!!! You traded up because you knew who you wanted, Jerry Jones. Just go fucking pick him already.

Four Throwgasms

The Fact That The Draft Lasts Forever: Okay, so the whole thing drags a bit. So flip over to something else for a bit. Check out the day's token Horrible, Early Eastern Conference Playoff Game. Or watch a flick. Or go to the gym. When you're back, there'll only have been three new picks! You didn't miss jack shit. Draft weekend means there's always something interesting to tune into. You can season the rest of your TV watching with bits of draft from here and there. In fact, last weekend, the NFL Network replayed last year's draft IN ITS ENTIRETY. It made for excellent commercial break filler. That vest on Brady Quinn is just as gay this year as it was back then.

Chris Mortensen: Mort's wrong a lot, unless he's reporting something that's just been reported somewhere else. But he's right at least 2 percent more often than Mike Florio, and that makes him the best in the business. Cutting to Mort during a draft means he's got a potentially explosive non-scoop, and that gets me all atwitter.

In general, I RELY on Mort to be wrong, because it helps make the draft surprising. If there's any news event that stands to benefit from shoddy reporting, it's the draft. Accurate reporting just makes the thing predictable. I don't know why ESPN tries so hard to figure out who's drafting whom. Don't tell me! I like surprises, you fuckers!

I watched an NBA Draft once where Hubie Brown guessed every pick correctly, and well before the picks were turned in. You know what, Hubie? You aren't helping, Coach MeltyFace. ESPN should follow the lead of the league's GMs and do everything in their power to throw us off. Throw out signals that St. Louis is drafting Chris Long, so that when they draft Vernon Gholston, I am positively AGHAST.

Watching A Player Talk On His Cell Phone: Who's he talking to? It might be the President! Of the Titans!

Three Throwgasms

Forgetting To Draft In Your Slot: The Vikings slipped two spots in the 2003 draft (from 7 to 9), when the clock ran out on them. They ended up with Kevin Williams, an All-Pro, for less than they would have paid him at the 7 spot. The two teams leapfrogging the Vikes were the Jags, who took Byron Leftwich (sucked), and the Panthers, who took Jordan Gross (okay). So the Vikings, despite their astonishing idiocy, ended up in a better position than if they had drafted on time. AND they helped shorten the draft. That's why I suggest that, this year, the Rams let time expire on their #2 overall pick and drop all the way down to the 32nd pick. That way, the entire first round will last seven minutes.

Mike Florio at Pro Football Talk has warned for years that some team will eventually purposely let time run out. And I'm all for it. Rookies are wildly overpaid in the NFL. No team really WANTS to throw $30 million at an untested QB prospect. It's just kinda what they have to do, given that there's no rookie cap. I'm waiting for the draft where one team says, "No way, FUCK that shit," and just purposely drops like a stone, only to have other teams follow suit and turn the whole thing into a giant game of "No, YOU Go!" C'mon Rams, grow a pair now that the old lady's dead and buried.

Two Throwgasms

NFL Network coverage: Still a little QVCish there, NFLN. I'm too used to ESPN's annoying coverage to switch over to your annoying coverage.

The Redskins Having A First Round Pick: But it's so much more fun when they have to sit it out! C'mon Danny Boy. Just ONE more first rounder and Ocho Cinco is all yours!

General Manager Interviews: Happy with your pick? That's surprising, because I thought it ate a fat dick.

War Room Shots: The ties are off. The sleeves are rolled up. Sandwiches are stacked in an artful pyramid on a nearby buffet. Three kinds of juice are out. These people mean fucking business.

One Throwgasm

Berman

Everyone Getting A Jersey With A Number One On It: This isn't Kiddie League Teeball. There's only one #1 pick, and that's the only guy who should get to hold up a #1 jersey. After that, you should get a jersey with a number that corresponds to your draft slot. The #1 jersey makes all the white players look like kickers, and all the black players look like Warren Moon.

Graphics: You'll see the Patriots' panoply of selections 88 times before you get to see your own team's. Flipping back and forth during the telecast means you will, without fail, come onto the draft scroll JUST after your team's selection has passed by. Grrrrrr.

Film Analysis Segments With Jaws And Hoge: I love Jaws, but the whole reason I watch football is so I don't have to play it, and therefore study it. Booooring.

Player Interviews With Stuart Scott: "How's it feel to be the #1 pick?!" Oh, I can probably venture a guess.

The Next Four Months: NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

Predraft Song That Makes Me Want To Run Through A Goddamn Brick Wall

"War Pigs", by Black Sabbath. Few people know that "War Pigs" was actually Dick Cheney's wedding song.

Embarassing Single I Once Owned That Will Not Fire You Up

"Poison," by Alice Cooper. I forgot about this one. Peep the 1:45 mark in the video. Alice was smart enough to know any video he appeared in also needed a solid bounty of hot chicks to restore balance to the universe. Look out, Alice! That brunette's poisoned you! With Alka Seltzer! Plop plop, fizz fizz, you dead!

Fantasy Player That Deserves To Die A Slow, Painful Death

No one this week. But mark my words, come fall, that Michael Turner's gonna find a way to fuck you.

Drafttime Snack Of The Week

Teddy Grahams. Can't get enough those Teeeeedy Grahams! Nabiiisco! Ooooooh!

Ever have two Teddy Grahams do a 69 on each other? I have. And I'm not talking about when I was a kid. I did it, like, yesterday. It's even hotter when you do it with a Honey Teddy and a Chocolate Teddy. That's some solid interflavorial bearbanging right there.

Drafttime Beer Of The Week

Anchor Steam! The name makes me think of dropping anchor. And Cleveland steamers. The amber hue is no help, either. Good beer, though. It rises well above its poop juice connotations.

Sunday Afternoon Movie Of The Week For Browns Fans (No 1st Round Pick)

Into The Wild. I really liked Into The Wild. But I couldn't help but point out all the things Christopher McCandless did wrong that Bear Grylls NEVER would have done. Staying in a Magic Bus for seven weeks? Fool! Out in the wild, YOU'VE GOT TO KEEP MOVING! If only Bear had been around back then to educate Chris, to let him know you NEVER go out into the wild without a water bottle, a knife, a flint and a 20-man camera crew. And a helicopter escort. And a sumptuous mid-day buffet for everyone. Also, Bear would have nailed the shit out of Kristen Stewart. C'mon, man. She was dying for it.

What an idiot. Still smarter than Timothy Treadwell, though.

Gratuitous Simpsons Quote

"Spare me your euphemisms. It's fat camp for Daddy's chubby little secret!"

Halftime Masturbation Kit
***For the guys: Round Two with Hayden Panettiere. On "Heroes," she can heal from any injury. Does that mean a fresh hymen every time? I think it does.
***For the gals: A buck naked Keanu Reeves. You know, looking at a still picture of Keanu Reeves and looking at a moving picture of Keanu Reeves offer pretty much the exact same experience.

Blatantly False, ProFootballTalk-Style, Fred Edelstein-esque Rumor Of The Week

WE HEAR... that Bill Parcells really hopes to trade down and amass extra picks. Know who else is hoping to trade down and amass extra picks? EVERYONE.

Your Motivational Predraft Quote for The Weekend

"In such a situation, you have no time to think. Instinct takes over. It's either kill... or be killed."
-Louis Winthorp III

Enjoy the draft, everyone. See you back here in September when the Jamboroo returns.

Well folks, this is the end. It's now the offseason again, and as much as I'd like to piss and moan about the desert stretch of seven football-free months that lay ahead, it's hard to complain much when the NFL gave us such a rewarding, pants-dampening sendoff. I said to the Maj after the game that it would take at least a few days for the end of that game to truly sink in, and I still don't think it ha...

HOLY FUCK, THE GIANTS FUCKING WON? AND THE GAME IS FUCKING OVER? AND IT ACTUALLY COUNTED? THEY'RE GONNA LET THAT SHIT STAND? HOOOOOOOOOOLY SHIT! AY CHIHUAHUA! HOLY DONKEY DICK!

/gets drunk on floor varnish

Time was, I'd happily segue from the Super Bowl straight into NBA/college basketball/hooker prowling season with relative ease. And I still follow those sports, along with golf and baseball and what not, every day. I'm primarily an NFL fan, but I'm also a sports fan in the more general sense.

But you know what? For a guy who likes sports, I sure as shit don't watch a whole hell of a lot of them.

There's a big reason that the NFL is the dominant sports league in America, and it's a reason that few people ever talk about. And it is this: it's EASIER to be a football fan than a fan of some other sport. The NFL demands far less time from diehard fans than a sport like basketball or baseball. All it takes is three hours a week watching your favorite team for a few months, and a few extra hours of viewing during the playoffs. In a world with movies, TV and gonzo cyberporn, that's a huge plus. You can watch pretty much every game without it being a huge drain on your schedule. And that leaves plenty of time left over for playing video games, hanging out with your family and gunning down liquor store clerks.

But baseball? Holy shit. If you want to be a diehard baseball fan, you pretty much have to forsake the outside world to watch every game. THEY EVEN PLAY TWO GAMES IN ONE DAY, FOR SHIT'S SAKE! DURING WORK HOURS! I understand why the players show up for those things. They get paid. But fans? There are doctors on call who are less put upon.

But just because I don't have the actual time to WATCH baseball or basketball games doesn't mean I'm not a fan. Or does it? I have a decent working knowledge of pretty much every NBA team and its management. And I happily shoot the shit with guys when interesting stuff pops up, like the Gasol trade last week. Does he make the Lakers a bona fide title contender? How come he couldn't keep Memphis from being so shittastic? Is there any relation between Pau Gasol and T'Pau? That stuff all interests me.

But you know how many NBA games I watched on TV last year, from beginning to end, including the playoffs? Zero. None. I'm not even sure I made it past the hour mark. If I did, I almost certainly flipped around or wrote stupid dick jokes in between. I see highlights. I watch 10-minute stretches of games when I'm at a bar, or when I'm channel surfing. But a whole game? No way. I follow basketball, and yet I watch almost no basketball at all.

Why the fuck would I do that?

Let me borrow from the Simmons playbook and use my own personal life experience to make a wild generalization about the behavior of ALL other people. I think what's going on is that we, as people, are consuming sports in a completely different fashion now. And I'm not talking about getting all your sports info from SportsCenter. No, this goes beyond that. The NBA had middling ratings last year for the Spurs-Cavs Finals, yet the league continues to thrive financially. Why? Because more and more people are following sports now without bothering to actually watch them.

I didn't watch much of the NBA playoffs last year. But I damn sure kept track of what was going on. Remember when the Suns and Spurs had that mild fracas in the playoffs and all those guys got suspended? Man, I knew all about that shit. What a fucking outrage! They barely graced the court, Stern, you fucking jackass! But did I see that shit happen in real time? Good Lord, no. That shit was on at like, 4 a.m. I need my beauty rest. It helps resist aging.

I'd wager only a couple million people watched that game on TV. But scores more were happy to talk about it the next day. And that's because, thanks to blogs, and YouTube, and ESPN, and all that shit, we can not only get the gist of what happened out there when Stoudamire and Diaw (it was Diaw, right? I'm too lazy to look that shit up) got suspended, we can get it fucking Rashomon-style, covered from about 4,000 different angles. You can get a version on blogs, a version from the wire report, a version from the streaming video, myriad versions from message boards and comments threads, and what have you. You don't need to see it happen live to be well informed, to get in the slipstream of conversation.

In fact, if you ONLY watched the game in the arena, without benefit of replay, and digested none of the media built upon it, you probably wouldn't be as well-versed about it as someone who didn't see it at all.

Sports are a common language for us. They're a way for us to bond. Something happens in the world of sports, and we talk about with buddies, or we make jokes about it in the comments here. A long time ago, it was considered a rite of passage for a dad to take his kid to a ballgame for quality time together. In all those instances, sports are a vehicle, a means to an end. We NEED the conversation. We NEED to interact with one another over something we share in common.

We NEED all that. What we sometimes don't actually NEED anymore is to watch the game itself. We need the game to take place somewhere out in the ether, so that something happens to spur our discourse. But sometimes, that's ALL we require. Obviously, watching replays or reading accounts of a sporting event after the fact are never anywhere near as exciting as seeing it all play out as it happens. But is the latter a prerequisite for being a legitimate, impassioned sports fan? I'm not sure it is.

Is that weird? Well, it's not as weird as you might think. Think about other fields of conversation, such as politics. This, as you know, is primary season. We've all had our political flame wars and dinner table conversations about who we like and who we think is a complete piece of shit (COUGHhillaryCOUGH). Well, have you ever watched a political debate from beginning to end? Or listened your favorite candidate's stump speech all the way through? I haven't. Those things are boring as shit, with only a few exciting moments to be had over the course of hours, if that.

Not unlike watching a baseball game.

But that doesn't mean politics or baseball aren't of any interest to you or me at all. On the contrary. I personally find the whole steroid scandal juicy as shit (They got Clemens? AWWWW YEAH!!!!!). I could talk with friends for hours on end about what a complete fucktaster Barry Bonds is. Number of times I saw him play in a game last year? Zip. The game provides a foundation for our conversations, but it isn't always necessary to it. I used to watch baseball a lot. I don't watch much of it anymore. But am I still interested? Yup. Am I still a fan? Yeah, I guess I am. Not a very good one, but there you have it. What's the opposite of a purist? That's me. I'm an impurist.

I used to think that this shift in my consumption of sports was bad for me. That somehow, this made me a member of the ADD generation who is easily distracted by OH MY GOD THAT DOG HAS A PUFFY TAIL! I used to think it was kind of embarrassing. But now, I actually think it's good. I think it helps make me a more well-rounded individual. Ever talk to a guy who was a complete baseball freak and watched every game and kept track of VORP's and shit like that? Let me tell you something: That conversation dies after about three minutes. It's in-depth baseball or nothing. I know. I've had drinks with Leitch.

But a good conversation is one that flows like music, with one subject floating seamlessly into the next without tripping over itself. And, if you're someone who is well-versed in sports without having dedicated all your time to watching them, you're probably better at having just such a conversation.

I know I am. Dinner party guests find me worldly and large-penised.

Now, am I as well-prepared to have an argument with Henry Abbott about the greatest power forwards of all time than I am having an argument with a friend about the Vikings' problems at quarterback? Uh, no. That dude watches a whole shitload of basketball. I watch a whole shitload of football. We aren't gonna have any kind of scholarly discussion. But we can still shoot the breeze and bond over it, which is why we're all naturally attracted to sports to begin with. It's not about the games. It's about us. It's always about us. We're all selfish dicks like that.

So I, for one, salute this new kind of casual yet extremely well-informed sports fan. Because I am one of them. Come March, I'll fill out a NCAA tourney bracket and then skip the title game. Then I'll make lots of rape jokes about Kobe while he plays late games I have no chance of watching. Come summer, I'll even take in a little baseball... posts from Fire Joe Morgan. And I'll watch some movies, read half a book, consume lots of celebrity gossip (Amy Winehouse back in rehab?!!!! OMG!111!!!1! But she's so brassy!), and do lots of other things that give me basic, topline information about what's going on in sports and the world at large, so that I can be a productive, interesting citizen of the universe.

It's nothing to be ashamed of. I love sports. Just not always enough to watch them.

That said, time to shut down the Jamboroo.

Playoff Game Picks and Predictions

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

No Throwgasms

The Pro Bowl. Every year, I stumble on the Pro Bowl and say to myself, "Well it IS football." So I start watching. And then, 30 seconds later, I change the channel. Watching the Pro Bowl is about as interesting as watching a goddamn celebrity golf Pro-Am. Oh, look! It's Ray Romano AND Steve Stricker! Together! Wheeeee!!!

I also resent the fact that all the players and media members get to spend the week in Hawaii while I freeze my ass off back home. Look at Berman, wearing a lei. He looks so damn relaxed. Fat fucker. I don't care how great of a fucking week you had. If players aren't suffering, I ain't interested.

Last Week: 0-1 (1-0 vs. the spread)
Overall: 6-5 (7-4 vs. the spread)

Song To Get You Through The Offseason

"Won't Be Long" by The Hives. I like me some Swedish men who dress in matching suits and look like porn stars. This song makes me want to guzzle champagne and pinch a stripper's ass.

Embarassing Cassingle I Once Owned That Will Not Fire You Up

I'm all outta cassingles. The only other cassingle I remember owning was "You Could Be Mine," which featured "Civil War" as a B-side. And that song kicks much ass. I bought it because it came out in advance of the "Use Your Illusion" release.

Maybe I'll do embarrassing albums next season, because I have a shitload of those sitting in my Caselogic. I even have a Stereolab album I've never listened to. Why did I buy that? I think I might be French. And gay. And a Communist.

Player That Deserves To Die A Slow, Painful Death

No players to single out this week. Everything worked out juuuuust right.

Actual Wild Card Of The Week

This week's actual wild card is ELI MANNING!

Oh, yeah. DIDN'T EXPECT OL' ELI TO STEP UP, DID YA?! My goodness, he grew up right before our very eyes on Sunday! And grew pubes and everything! I heard he even had a nocturnal emission!

/marks Eli's new height on the inside of the pantry door

You're 6'4" now, Eli?! WOW!

Snack Of The Offseason

Funyuns! The snack you only THINK are made of onions! According to Wikipedia:

They were named "Funyuns" by University of North Texas professor and copywriter Jim Albright after it was discovered that the first choice of name for the product, "OnYums", had already been taken.

The last laugh is on YOU, OnYum man! Nobody ate YOUR onion flavored processed corn product! Suck Frito Lay's cheese balls!

Cheap Beer Of The Offseason

Boy, I need something for the next few months that'll get me good and DRUNK! I know...

Little crooked I up in this bitch! I like to think of St. Ides as an undiscovered Caribbean island with a crime rate that somehow manages to dwarf that of Jamaica, St. Thomas and the Bahamas COMBINED. What's a figure higher than 100 percent?

Sunday Afternoon Movie Of The Week For Everyone

Crumb. You start out Crumb thinking Robert Crumb is pretty fucked in the head. And then you meet his brother, who sits on a bed of nails and spends his day passing a very long piece of fabric through his entire digestive tract. IT'S COMING OUT OF HIS MOUTH AND ANUS SIMULTANEOUSLY. He committed suicide after the film was shot. Man, do I feel better about myself.

Gratuitous Simpsons Quote

"We're going up to the bluffs to paint SPRINGFIELD SUCKS in huge letters. That way, whenever they look into Shelbyville, they will realize that they suck."

Offseason Masturbation Kit
• For the guys: Brit supermodel Kelly Brook. That suit just won't zip!
• For the gals: You know, I spent a lot of time this year Googling shit like "shirtless men" and what not for you ladies. And what do I get in return? "Oh, he's not hot! Ewwww!!!" Well ladies, tough shit. All I have to go on here is my repressed homosexuality. If you find Justin Timberlake unacceptable, I have no clue what the fuck it is I'm supposed to look for in a man. Kiss my ass.

Blatantly False, ProFootballTalk-Style, Fred Edelstein-esque Rumor Of The Week
WE HEAR... Patriot fans still whining like the little, insufferable bitches they are.

Your Motivational Quote For The Offseason
"Your son looks like a fag to me. You'd better get married again, 'cause he'll have somebody's cock in his mouth before you know it."
-Reggie Dunlop

NOTE: The Jamboroo will return one week in April for the Draft. And I'll be back here in two weeks with a newer, way fucking shorter column. Special thanks to Dan V for his outstanding Photoshop work all season long. You made the Jamboroo sing, Danny Boy!

Enjoy the offseason, everyone.

No tedious buildup here. This is the longest, most needlessly overwritten Jamboroo yet. Let's get right to the fucking game.

Super Bowl Pick

All Super Bowls in the Jamboroo are evaluated for sheer watchability on a scale of 1 to 5 Throwgasms. And I'm boldly forging ahead and making a pick.

Five Throwgasms

Patriots 30, Giants 20. If this game had been played a week after the conference title games, I would have picked the Giants. I really would have. They can rush the passer with just four men, throw the ball deep and mix up the running game with Bradshaw and Jacobs. No reason they can't give the Patriots a decent game, as they have already proven.

But with this goddamn two-week layoff? I'm not as optimistic for a good game. I hope I'm wrong. It's the last game of the year. I don't care who wins, I'm just gonna sit in my chair and pray that the game doesn't turn into one giant fucking suckfest by halftime. Because, when that happens, and the last half of real football you get to see until September is absolute dogshit, well that sucks. So I hope it's a good game. I really, really hope it's a good game. 'Cause it's all I've got. When football season ends, antisocial drinking season kicks into high gear.

By now, you've probably figured out that this column isn't about football, it's about WATCHING football. I love the game. But what I love even more is all the ritualistic shit around it: getting excited for the game, shooting the shit about who's gonna win the game, picking out the right chips at the supermarket for consumption during the game, ordering a hooker the morning of the game, telling Patriot fans they're insufferable fucks and pissing them off by unfairly portraying all of them as overwhelmingly racist before the game ... that's the real joy of this thing. So I'mma savor it. Right up until the final whistle, when the Patriots are officially 19-0, and we have to hear about it for the rest of our miserable lives.

Last Week: 0-0 (0-0 vs. the spread)
Overall: 6-4 (6-4 vs. the spread)

Drew's Guacamole Recipe

When I lived in Manhattan, I lived right in midtown by the Queensboro bridge. One block over was a Mexican restaurant named Rosa Mexicano that made guacamole in a mortar right at your table. The cost? About $15-$20. For fucking guac. That's horseshit. Here's one you can make yourself.

4 ripe avocados
2 tbsp olive oil
1 clove garlic, chopped
1/2 bunch cilantro, chopped
Juice of 1 lime
1/2 small red onion, chopped
Sea salt & pepper (to taste) - And use fucking SEA salt. Good salt is the easiest way to make anything you cook taste better. A salt grinder is the tits.

Using a big knife, cut all the avocados in half at the pit. Twist the two halves to separate them. Then, flicking your wrist, drop the sharp edge of your knife on the pit so it sinks into it a little. Twist out the pit with your knife. Throw the pits in a big bowl. DON'T FUCKING TOSS THEM OUT. They keep that shit green. Using the big knife, make a deep crosshatch pattern through each half of the avocados, like a 6x6 tic tac toe board. Then, using a spoon, scoop the halves all out into the same bowl as the pits. Add the garlic, lime juice, olive oil, cilantro, red onion, salt and pepper. Then fold it all together with a spoon. DON'T MASH IT. That's jayvee shit. Serve with chips. If you serve this to a woman, she will have sex with you. At least, my escort did.

Note To Tom Petty

Dear Tom,

Please play the following setlist at halftime: "You Got Lucky," "You Don't Know How It Feels" and "Mary Jane's Last Dance" (if you could dance on stage with the corpse of Kim Basinger for the last one, that would be awesome). I know this setlist is likely not what I will receive. I'll probably get "American Girl," then some new song that no one gives a fuck about, and then "Free Fallin'" which I'm still sick of 19 years after its release.

But you owe me, Petty. Know why? You owe me because of the end of this fucking video. Okay? I was nine years old when I saw this thing. Know what happens when you're nine years old and you watch little Alice in Wonderland get turned into birthday cake and cannibalized? Fucking night terrors, you prick. I was a little kid. I didn't know yet that doing drugs made that shit hilarious, jerkwheat. I demand recompense.

A Note About Super Bowl Ads

I work in advertising. A Super Bowl ad is a $5 to $10 million commitment for any company based on media costs, production costs, research, etc. That means everyone at the agency needs to approve it and make tweaks (this means dozens of people), and everyone at the client needs to approve it and make tweaks (this means dozens of people), and everyone at the focus group needs to approve it and make tweaks (this means dozens of people). Which means that, in the end, what you get is Cuba Gooding jumping out of an airplane drinking a can of Pepsi One.

These ads fucking blow. All of them. Even the ones USA Today tells you are good the next day? Yup, they fucking suck too. They're no better than the shitty ads you get on a daily basis. So feel free never watch one again. There was one good Super Bowl ad, and here it is:

Pregame Song That Makes Me Want To Run Through A Goddamn Brick Wall

"A Song For The Deaf" by Queens Of The Stone Age. Playtime's over, kids. TIME TO FUCKING ROCK YOUR COCK OFF. I enjoy how the sinister bassline ushers in the song. You know something fucking evil and awesome is about to happen, and then the guitars kick in and it's like DUH DUH-DUH DUH DUH-DUH DUH DUH-DUH-DUHHHHH DUH DUH DUH!!!!!! Oh yeah, that's the stuff. Really makes me want to give heroin a spin.

Not only did I used to constantly daydream about being a motherfuckin' badass football player, but I also had an entire dream football life planned out for myself, where I win 12 titles as a player and then go on to become a coaching legend with a .997 winning percentage (my one loss was due to a tragic team plane accident, but with the surviving eight players I was able to still keep my team within two points of winning). But I'm also one of those coaching legends who's such a genius that he doesn't have to put in as much work as other coaches. I had Belichick's acumen and Stoops' work ethic.

And one of the things I always wondered was: If I were a coach, what song would I play over the stadium PA to walk the team out onto the field? I think it's safe to say "A Song For The Deaf" would do the trick. So ominous. So punishing. So unrelentingly brutal.

"I can go get fucked
Lie beside the ditch
So low round my neck
Strung out every stitch"

Oh, yeah. Do those lyrics say "team with nothing to lose" to you? Fuck and yes. I'd also command stadium personnel to use only red light bulbs for night games. Playing a game under red stadium lights helps set the tone for an absolute bloodbath.

Embarassing Cassingle I Once Owned That Will Not Fire You Up

"Cold Blood," by Kix. Kix the band was formed in 1978. Kix the cereal was introduced in 1937. So members of the band knew they competing directly with a kiddie cereal that had already existed for 41 years. Pretty dumb name for a band, right? Well, considering that the band was originally named The Shooze, Kix seems like a wild improvement. The Shooze? Really? Jesus, that's fucking horrible, even from a band from Hagerstown.

(SIDE NOTE: Kix cereal is tasteless dogshit. A Kix is like an unflavored Cocoa Puff. No wonder mothers approve. But that whole "kid tested" claim? I find that highly dubious. That fact that it came in a very large box was also no help. You had to slog for weeks to finish that stupid box, just like Honey Comb. Fuck you, Kix cereal.)

The "Cold Blood" single was a favorite of mine because it also contained "Blow My Fuse" as a B-side, which was also a song I liked. Nothing like a good B-side to help you feel better about purchasing a $7 cassingle with two songs over a $12 album with a dozen of them. Many people remember Kix for "Don't Close Your Eyes," but I tell you, that song doesn't give you the full Kix experience.

Player That Deserves To Die A Slow, Painful Death

All of them, for not playing last week. Lazy assholes. I HAD TO TALK TO RELATIVES, GOD DAMMIT!

Five Potential Key Injuries
• Tom Brady (ankle?)
• Tom Brady (foot?)
• Tom Brady (tapeworm?)
• Tom Brady (African Sleeping Sickness?)
• Tom Brady (Dr. E. Henry Thripshaw's Disease?)

Actual Wild Card Of The Week

Each week until all Wild Card teams are eliminated, I'll be picking an actual Wild Card of the week. This week's is Glenne Headley's character in Dirty Rotten Scoundrels.

You mean, she's ALSO a con artist? THAT FUCKING BITCH! It's only cute when men do it, dammit!!!

Gametime Snack Of The Week

Wings. No Super Bowl party is complete without wings, chips, or chili. And, to be honest, wings are the No. 1 priority on that list. And none of this teriyaki wing shit, or some other queer variation on the original recipe. That's crap. They're smothered in butter and Franks, or they aren't wings. I also get pissed when people bake the wings and tell you they taste as good as fried wings. That's a load of shit. It's a goddamn chicken wing. It's 90 percent skin anyway. I say fry the fuckers up.

Many people go straight for the little mini-drumstick part of the wing. But I'm here to tell you, that two-boned "forearm" part of the wing is just as easy to eat if you do it right. A lot of people make the mistake of pulling the two bones apart, which results in needless spattering. Folks, there's a better way. Simply grasp one end of the piece firmly with your fingertips. Then place the entire piece in your mouth. Now, using your front teeth, bite down on the end of the piece, right in front of where your fingers are holding it in place. Then, using your teeth as makeshift wire strippers, PULL the piece back out of your mouth. Voila. You've got all the fat and skin off the two bones, leaving only a tiny shred of meat betwixt them. Discard it. It is of no use to you. You're welcome.

By the way, I don't get the celery. I'm ordering wings. There shouldn't be any vegetation of any kind on the plate. Least of all celery. Eating celery is like eating a spool of dental floss. No thanks. And fuck that bleu cheese dressing too. It overpowers the wing. And it's rather excessive, no? Why don't I dip fucking dip my fried chicken in whipped cream while I'm at it?

Gametime Cheap Beer Of The Week

Busch. Head for the mountains of Busch... beer. The name of the mountain that Busch is brewed atop? Mount Doom. Forged by the Dark Lord Sauron himself.

When I die, I'm very curious to see if Satan will answer many of the questions I have about my life. For one thing, I'd the opportunity to sit in a private room and watch all the sex scenes from my life, so that I can masturbate to them. I would also like to know which girls would have been willing to have sex with me that I didn't know about. There's gotta be one shocker in that batch. I think. I hope. Eh, probably not. Then, what I would like to do is watch scenes from an alternate reality in which I would have had sex with those ladies that would have had sex with me if I had known they wanted to have sex with me. I don't think that's too much to ask.

But I'd have other questions about my life as well. For example, I'd like to know how large of a vessel all the semen I shot out while masturbating could fill. My guess? A German U-Boat. I'd also like to know how many bagels I ate, total. I bet it's more than you had in your life.

And another question I would have is: What was the one beer I drank the most, and how much of it did I drink, in sheer volume? My guess is that Busch would top that list. Not for any special reason. If you've ever had Busch, you know it sucks. But it was the cheapest beer at my college, with a 30-pack a mere ten dollars. One time I got so drunk off of Busch that I threw up into a cardboard box, then fell asleep on the floor with my head in the same box. During the course of the evening, many people walked by and gave the box a little kick, just to make sure I was alive. Or for fun. Probably for fun. I better ask about that when I die.

I played a handful of drinking games in college and wasn't good at any of them. Quarters? Sucked. Beer die? Sucked. Beirut? Eh... everyone's decent at Beirut. Flipcup? Inconsistent. That's why a friend of mine invented a very simple drinking game that anyone can excel at. And you don't even need a table. It's called DRINK BECAUSE. And it goes like this.

This is a two-player game. Doesn't matter who goes first. Ideally, you are already shitfaced before the game has even begun. The first person must think of a reason for the other person to take a drink. For example...

"DRINK BECAUSE... you're a fucking faggot."

That one came up quite a bit. Very clever. The second player must then drink. Then the second player thinks of a reason of his own.

"DRINK BECAUSE... you fucking smell like a fucking wheel of Gouda."

Tricky game, I know. In all instances, YOU MUST ALWAYS DRINK. If someone says DRINK BECAUSE something, they've got you pinned down.

"DRINK BECAUSE... the fucking Vikings lost, HAHAHAHAHA."

"DRINK BECAUSE... you fucking jerked off in my mom's house, you fuck."

"DRINK BECAUSE... I fucking hate you... and I never really liked you."

"DRINK BECAUSE... THEY'RE FUCKING PLAYING 'PLOWED' BY SPONGE RIGHT NOW, SHITBOX."

Yep, I've wasted my life.

Sunday Afternoon Movie Of The Week For Avoiding The Pregame

Europa Europa. This is a German movie about a young Jewish man who survives the Holocaust by posing as an Aryan and joining the Hitler Youth. We watched it in history class when I was in high school. The main character, Jupp, goes to great lengths to hide his identity, and succeeds. At one point, he even passes a Nazi phrenological exam (whether he'd pass the same test in a Texas public school now is up for debate, as the state has made great strides in that particular field since then).

But there's one thing Jupp can't hide from the Nazis, and that is his circumcised penis. So, using a needle and thread, he pushes the head of his penis down into his remaining foreskin and stitches it up. Now, this is harrowing enough. But it gets worse. The penis then gets infected. Badly. And, when Jupp goes to the bathroom to examine his mangled, stitched, infected schnitzengruben, they show it close up.

GAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

One look and my thighs slammed shut so tightly I crushed my own balls. I'd just like to say to Agnieszka Holland, the director of Europa Europa: You fucking suck. Thanks for treating me to the 1990 equivalent of the kids in the sandbox video, you heartless frau you.

Gratuitous Simpsons Quote

"Kids, we need to talk for a moment about Krusty Brand Chew Goo Gum-Like Substance. We all knew it contained spider eggs, but the hantavirus? That came out of left field. So if you're experiencing numbness and/or comas, send five dollars to antidote, PO Box..."

Halftime Masturbation Kit
• For the guys: NSFW gallery of former playmate Kerri Kendall. I've tried to avoid the NSFW linkage all year, because I'm a dad, and that would be weird. But this link serves a special purpose. Kendall was the playmate in the very first issue of Playboy I ever stole. It featured Rosanna Arquette on the cover. Now, I was maybe 13 or 14 when I did this, and this easily ranked as my greatest accomplishment of life at the time.

There was a drug store located about two miles from my house, in a town center. On weekends, I biked all the way to the area, ostensibly to rent a Nintendo game at the video store. But, once I stole the Kendall issue (tucked into my windbreaker), I stole a new Playboy every month. And I can recite those older Playmates practically in chronological order: Kendall, Cheryl Bachman, Carrie Jean Yazel, etc. The only problem with stealing those Playboys was that I had to bike the two miles all the way home in order to get to my room and masturbate in a sweaty furor. I was fat, so it took a while. Once, I just pulled over the side of the road and did it in the woods. I may have tried to have sex with a tree, but I'm not ready to admit that.

I stole porn regularly up through my attendance at a dipshit prep school. And I never got caught, until one day sophomore year. I walked into a convenience store near campus, one I regularly stole from. I grabbed an issue of Swank, tucked it in my jacket and casually walked out. I got 200 yards when a fucking HUGE pickup truck came speeding straight at me. I froze on the spot. The truck stopped about two feet from me, and out popped a dude who looked exactly like Kenny's dad from "South Park." Only he was REAL. He pushed me to the ground and grabbed the Swank out of my jacket. Then he pointed at me and said:

"Don't you ever fucking come in my store again."

And he drove off. I swore at that moment I would never masturbate again. That oath lasted a grand total of 12 minutes. I was pretty proud of myself for holding out so long.

So this Kendall spread brings back the memories. Sad, pathetic memories. Enjoy!

• For the gals: Reese Witherspoon ex Ryan Phillippe. I saw Philippe in "Breach". It was a good flick, and he's okay in it. But he spends most of the flick giving the camera the Blue Steel look. Unpurse those lips, young man!

Blatantly False, ProFootballTalk-Style, Fred Edelstein-esque Rumor Of The Week
WE HEAR... Leitch's Super Bowl party tonight will devolve into something resembling a "Real Sex" swinger biker couples orgy segment.

Your Motivational Pregame Quote for The Weekend
"Being perfect is not about that scoreboard out there. It's not about winning. It's about you and your relationship with yourself, your family and your friends. Being perfect is about being able to look your friends in the eye and know that you didn't let them down because you told them the truth. And that truth is you did everything you could. There wasn't one more thing you could've done. Can you live in that moment as best you can, with clear eyes, and love in your heart, with joy in your heart? If you can do that gentleman - you're perfect."
-Coach Gaines

PROGRAMMING NOTE: I'll have one more Jamboroo to review the season next week, then I'm taking a week off and debuting a brand new column in this slot the week after. Will you like it? Eh, I don't really give a shit.

Enjoy the Super Bowl, everyone.

Well, here we are. It's the Super Bowl bye week. Fuck. The first whole weekend without real football since September. This is the weekend where I sit around in my living room in the middle of Sunday afternoon, look around for something to do and begin crying. Everything about this whole shitty ass bye week business sucks, but I'll get to that in just a moment.

As you know, next week a whole bigass load of journalists will be packing up their Rolaids and back issues of Playboy's Nudes and jetting out to Phoenix for the media festivities surrounding the Giants-Patriots game. And they won't be alone. Plenty of bloggers will be joining them, including the editor of this esteemed site, along with Matty Ufford, Dan Steinberg and a cadre of others. The number of bloggers heading out to the Super Bowl increases by the year. Some of them have credentials. Most of them don't. But they'll be there all the same, to drink in the scene and report back to you about just how fucking hard it is to get into the Maxim party.

This migration also coincides with the release of Chairman Leitch's new book, which takes dead aim at the traditional sports media, along with other assorted targets. No doubt God Save The Fan will raise the ire of the occasional mainstream reporter or two. It may even get them to bitch about blogs, as so many MSM columnists have already done. In turn, it will cause lots of us bloggy folks to poke fun at them and call them dinosaurs. And this is where I'd like to make one poorly-thought-out and not dick jokey enough point about this whole blogs vs. MSM bitchfest.

I'd like you to take a look at the four quotes below. You've no doubt already read them here on this site and poked fun at them. But there's a deeper context to them that needs to be addressed. Read on:

Bill Conlin: "In Colonial times, bloggers were called 'Pamphleteers.' They hung on street corners handing them out to passersby."

Michael Wilbon: "The notion of blogging scares the hell out of me Scott, and ... this is why. There's no accountability ... stuff isn't edited. It just goes out there as gospel. What it is is opinion, there's way too much rumor."

Stephen A. Smith: "And when you look at the Internet business, what's dangerous about it is that people who are clearly unqualified get to disseminate their piece to the masses. I respect the journalism industry, and the fact of the matter is ...someone with no training should not be allowed to have any kind of format whatsoever to disseminate to the masses to the level which they can. They are not trained. Not experts."

Sam Smith: "How is it I can work for decades developing contacts around the NBA and traveling regularly around the NBA and talking with the decision makers and some guy in his basement in his underwear is writing something that has credibility?"

Put aside for a moment whatever personal animosity you may have towards any of these four gentlemen (I fully realize that will require a Herculean effort, particularly for the third man listed). All four of these quotes assume three things:

1) Blogging (or, as Conlin might put it, pamphleteering) is a new and unreliable form of journalism;
2) All sports bloggers are trying to practice some form of amateur reporting;
3) People consume blog posts the same way they read mainstream news pieces.

All three of these assumptions are wrong. In an age where more and more people are reading blogs, and bloggers are even allowed to cover live sporting and news events, it's important now to clarify something. BLOGGING IS NOT JOURNALISM. And it doesn't aspire to be. It's a completely different art form that has absolutely nothing in common with journalism. They aren't the same thing, and they aren't supposed to be.

A blog is a blank website with roughly 17 trillion potential applications. You can use it to make stupid dick jokes. You can use it to post pictures of your trip for your family and friends to check out. You can use it to sell t-shirts. You can use it to show ass naked pictures of Crissy Moran dry humping a balance beam (I strongly recommend this option). It has no rules. No supposedly built-in set of ethics. No style guidelines. It's a blank canvas, for you to do with as you please.

Journalism, on the other hand, is a set discipline with an already established set of rules for those wishing to practice it. The purpose of journalism is to inform and, when necessary, interpret. A reporter researches a story, writes down what happened, and then presents it to you. Columnists, who ideally have done research of their own, will then interpret the story in some sort of greater context, i.e. how it relates to other events in the past, present, or future. Is that how journalism is ALWAYS practiced? No. But the principles are there.

You see where those two art forms might differ just a tad? The reason MSM folks get bitchy about bloggers is because they assume that bloggers are trying to do what they do. And, by and large, they aren't.

Yes, there are sites such as Deadspin, With Leather and The Big Lead that break the occasional story, or interview newsmakers, or discover new, amazing sets of tits to look at. And there are blogs that serve as extensions of legitimate journalistic enterprises, like the DC Sports Bog. But to assume ALL sports blogs share a common goal that is similar to that of journalism is dumb. Apart from talking about sports, a blog like The Dugout and another blog like the DC Sports Bog have absolutely nothing in common. No common purpose. No shared ideal.

Look at Sam Smith's quote again:

Sam Smith: "How is it I can work for decades developing contacts around the NBA and traveling regularly around the NBA and talking with the decision makers and some guy in his basement in his underwear is writing something that has credibility?"

Thing is, he's exactly right. He DOES have more credibility than some blogger who is just starting out and has no professional contacts. But who out there is assuming the blogger has more credibility? There isn't a reader in the universe who expects Joe Somebody's blogspot site to compete for credibility in reporting with a seasoned reporter from a billion dollar media conglomerate with unlimited resources and access. And, if there is, then that reader is a moron. And probably comments on perezhilton.com.

This isn't to say journalism is better than blogging. They're just different, and quality obviously varies within them. There is good journalism and shoddy journalism, just as there is good blogging and shoddy blogging. Part of what makes a Woody Paige column or a Jay Mariotti column so execrable is that they hold absolutely NO journalistic value of any kind. It's just braindead yammering, which makes it doubly insulting since it neither informs or enlightens, which is very least anyone should expect from a piece of journalism. Compare that to a blog, where there is NO expectation of any kind on the reader's part (or, at least, there shouldn't be). There is only the hope that you will be reading something interesting. And, if what you're reading happens to be a Big Lead movie review, you're gonna be shit out of luck.

The problem is that many journalists, and in turn many readers, have a deeply held belief that the printed word (on paper or electronically) holds more weight than the spoken word. That it is somehow sacrosanct. But that's not true on blogs, or on message boards, or on text messages. In these new forms of media, the written word is just as disposable and frivolous as a conversation between me and you (and talking with me is like taking a dip in an empty kiddie pool). And it's foolish to assume otherwise. Most sports blogs are run by fans, and serve mainly as an online extension of the friendly banter we all engage in about sports on a daily basis. It's not journalism. It's a blog. It's its own thing, and the two needn't be confused.

Yet time and again, this is what happens. And not just with journalists. But with readers as well. You know MJD moved to Yahoo this week. Check out these comments on his commentspost about Herschel Walker's battle with multiple personality disorder:

Please remove this post. Then proceed to removing this writer. Another example that there's no such thing as an editor in the age of "internet journalism".

mjd—-proof that journalists need to be drug tested.

I am SHOCKED at what i just read - I seriously can't believe a supposed "professional sports column" allowed this peice (sic) of garbage to be published - it's not even journalism, it's borderline MySpace drivel and I'm ashamed of Yahoo-Sports for allowing it.

These jackasses all assume MJD is trying to be Mike Silver, or some sort of accredited journalist. He's not, nor is that his responsibility. His job at Yahoo is entertain, not inform. He's there to be the Mighty MJD, to tell some jokes and kick some fucking ass. And if they can't appreciate the difference, FUCK THEM. Dumbfucks. It's a fucking blog. It's not journalism. And, to prove to you just how lacking in journalistic ethics this whole enterprise is:

FUCK SHIT CUNT RAMMING COCK IN YOUR ASS WHILE HITTING YOU IN THE FACE WITH USED TOILET PAPER. CUNT MUFFIN. DICK JOKE. MIGHTY FUCKROD. SHITTING OUT A BOWLING BALL.

Got it? Good. Let's make some chili below.

Playoff Game Picks and Predictions

All games in the Jamboroo are evaluated for sheer watchability on a scale of 1 to 5 Throwgasms. And I'm boldly forging ahead and making picks.

Five Throwgasms

WAIT... there are no fucking games this week. FUCK YOU, NFL. Super Bowl sites are announced years in advance, and tickets for the game are sold out months ahead of time. You fucks really need an extra week to get ready? Bullshit. BULLLLLLLshit. Give me the goddamn game. Quit prolonging my fucking misery and get to it already. Way to put the "Bowl" in Super Bowl, cockknockers.

Four Throwgasms

NONE. GRRRRRR...

Three Throwgasms

NONE. URGE TO KILL... RISING

Two Throwgasms

NONE. FEEL SO COLD, SO ANGRY...

One Throwgasm

LOOK, GIMME THE FUCKING PRO BOWL THIS WEEK FOR FUCK'S SAKE!

Last Week: 2-0 (1-1 vs. the spread)
Overall: 6-4 (6-4 vs. the spread)

Drew's Chili Recipe

I cook. That's right. Didn't think I cooked, did you? Thought I sat around all day with my pants around my ankles masturbating to pictures of Summer Glau wearing a skirt in TV Guide, did you? Yeah, it's true. But sometimes I pause to cook up some shit. I'm a Renaissance man like that.

Cooking will get you laid. Look at Bobby Flay. That guy gets mad pussy. All because he knows how to grill a ham steak. He's my hero. There's no easier way to impress ladies than to invite them over to your house and feed them a halfway decent meal. It lets them know that you're the type of guy who cares enough to boil some pasta. It gives them the illusion that you're the sort of fellow who will take good care of them. Women are suckers like that.

So, to that end, it's time to make some chili. This is a foolproof recipe. Cook it up for your Super Bowl party, and some lucky Holley Mangold of your choosing will hop on your knob in gratitude. Here's what you need.

FOR THE CHILI:

2 packs ground beef or turkey (I use one pack of ground chicken and one pack ground turkey)
1 onion
8 cloves garlic, chopped
1 shallot, chopped (optional)
1 jalapeno, chopped
1 large can whole peeled tomatoes
1 can tall red kidney beans, drained
1 can corn, drained
1 can beer
1 can chicken broth
1 tsp liquid smoke
1 tsp sugar
2 tbsp cumin (add more at end if necessary)
2 tbsp chili powder (add more at end if necessary)
The merciless peppers of Quetzlzacatenango, grown deep in the jungle primeval by the inmates of a Guatemalan insane asylum (optional)
1/4 cup white vinegar
Salt & Pepper to taste
Ashes from a joint (optional)
Lotta Frank's Hot Sauce (Frank's is the fucking best. I could put this shit on my cereal and be happy.)
2 glugs olive oil

FOR THE SIDES:
Shredded cheese
Tortilla chips
Sour cream
Frank's hot sauce
1 bunch scallions, chopped (Don't skimp on the fucking scallions. They make the dish)
Beer

Put a big pot on the stove on high. Pour in the oil. When it's smoky hot, toss in the onions, garlic, jalapeno, and shallots and stir them around until soft. Turn the stove down to medium/high. Toss in the ground meat. Salt and pepper the ground meat in the pot. Sautee the meat until it's good and brown. Open the can of tomatoes. Using a bigass knife, cut up the tomatoes while they're still in the can. Then pour the tomatoes in the pot. Add the beans, corn, beer, broth, liquid smoke, sugar, cumin, chili powder, joint ashes, vinegar, and Frank's. Bring it to a simmer. Half cover the pot and leave it on low medium heat for 2-3 hours, stirring occasionally and always tasting. The liquid in the pot should reduce into a nice, thick stew. Dip in a chip to see if the chili sticks to it. If it does, it's ready to serve. CHILI TIME! WOO HOOOOOOOO!!!!!

Chili has about a million uses. You can eat it in the bowl, or use it to cover nachos, or hot dogs, or pasta, or a hooker's chest. There's really no wrong way to eat it. It's the blog of hearty stews.

Fuck. Now I'm hungry.

Pregame Song That Makes Me Want To Run Through A Goddamn Brick Wall

"Ketang" by Kasabian. Good song.

Embarassing Cassingle I Once Owned That Will Not Fire You Up

"Disappear," by INXS. Actually, I'm not embarrassed. I still like this song. I like to put my feet together and do that little Hutchence hip shake. Given that I look like a 250 lb. five-year-old in real life, this is an incredibly sexy spectacle.

Player That Deserves To Die A Slow, Painful Death

Brett Favre. Nice job, asshole. Some hero you are.

Actual Wild Card Of The Week
Each week until all Wild Card teams are eliminated, I'll be picking an actual Wild Card of the week. This week's is Mr. Blonde.

You gonna bark all day, little doggie, or are you gonna bite?

Gametime Snack Of The Week

Hint of Lime Tostitos. I don't what they put on these things, but it sure as shit ain't lime. They are fucking good, though.

Gametime Cheap Beer Of The Week

Blatz. Milwaukee's first bottled beer. Obviously, they needed a few more tries to get it right.

Sunday Afternoon Movie Of The Week For FUCKING EVERYONE

Kentucky Fried Movie. What a movie. I tell ya, you won't know whether to laugh or masturbate.

"This is not a chawade. We need toto concentwation."

Gratuitous Simpsons Quote
"Look, question lady, this job is not what I really do. I play keyboards."

Halftime Masturbation Kit
• For the guys: Hayden Panettiere. "I wanna hold her, wanna hold her tight, get teenage kicks right through the night."
• For the gals: "Lost" star Naveen Andrews. Naveen goes out with Barbara Hershey. Or what's left of her.

Blatantly False, ProFootballTalk-Style, Fred Edelstein-esque Rumor Of The Week
WE HEAR... that Tom Brady's walking boot is actually a team-shared walking boot passed around each week, as per Belichick's orders. Moss is due in it next week.

Your Motivational Pregame Quote for The Weekend
"Hey, we're all gonna get laid!"
-Al Czervik

Enjoy the games, everyone. WAIT... there are no games. FUUUUUUCK! You'll pay for this, Goodell.

There are three football games left in the NFL season, but this week, championship week, always feels like the last real week of the season. It's the last doubleheader. It's the last weekend of multiple games. And, since the NFL insists on having that tortuous, stupid fucking bye week in between the title games and the Super Bowl, next week feels like the beginning of the offseason, with a three-hour Super Bowl oasis the following Sunday. And even that game feels like an awards show with a game tacked on. It's your last chance to see football unadorned until eight months from now.

So I get excited around this time. VERY excited. Highly aroused. Sure, football law states that at least one of the championship games will, without fail, suck. That's guaranteed. But that doesn't stop me from hoping that both games will be epic battles that feel as if they've already been archived by NFL Films with a Harry Kalas narration ready in the can. It's the giddy sense of anticipation that precedes the games that makes them so much fun, regardless of whether or not the game in question pays off the way you'd like.

Why, it's exactly like trying to dial phone sex.

It won't surprise you to know that I spent a great deal of my adolescence (yes, yes, adolescence. That's the ticket) trying to figure out how to dial a 1-800 phone sex number without having to give a credit card number (I didn't have one) or dial a 1-900 number, which would show up on my parents' phone records (as would a 1-800 number, but I didn't think this was true at the time). Any sane person knows this is not possible. But when you're a 16-year-old with a raging hard-on, logic is discarded and pure determination takes hold. There's a real sense of urgency there to have the best orgasm you possibly can. It's a real must-cum situation. You will do ANYTHING.

My strategy back then was not very good. I had no database of numbers to speak of except for what I saw on late night phone sex ads on TV (which I also masturbated to. It's the lightning round of jerking off). But those were mainly 1-900 numbers. So I spent a lot of time trying to figure out dirty word combinations on the touch-tone phone. Three-and four-letter words were crucial in this game. I always tried to involve useful words like "fuck" "cunt" and "tits", and more. You'd be surprised how many different permutations you get just from that simple vocabulary:

1-800-HOT-TITS
1-800-WET-TITS
1-800-WET-CUNT
1-800-BIG-TITS
1-800-HOT-FUCK
1-800-TIT-CUNT

Sometimes, in a moment of revelation, I'd figure out a Ph.D-level combination, like 1-800-PUSSY4U, or I'd throw caution to the wind and venture boldly into eight-digit combos, like 1-800-HOT4SEX. But, just as often, I would forget what combinations I had tried before (I didn't write any of this down, lest a paper trail be left), and try 1-800-HOT-TITS or some other number that I had forgotten did not work. When you dialed these numbers, one of two things happened:

1. The number would be out of service. When you dial a number that's out of service, the phone company punishes you by blasting that doo-doo-DOO signal into your ear at 500 decibels. I nearly pulled my dick off every time that happened. You can literally hear your own eardrum being blown apart. Phone companies are evil, horrible people.
2. You get a ring.

Now, a ring is something to get excited about. Nothing says breathless anticipation quite like a ring. Whether you're calling for phone sex, or trying to get through to a call-in show, or calling to ask someone on a date or some shit like that, your fucking heart starts inflating the second you hear that ring. Someone's gonna pick that phone up, and either something awesome will happen, or something will go terribly awry. BUT WHICH WILL IT BE?

Actually, neither. Because whenever I got a ring on one of those phone sex numbers, despite the fact that my erection would grow by a foot, the phone was never answered by a real, live phone sex operator. Hell, no. This was but Step One in a long, convoluted process that would inevitably leave me with a wrenched back, a limp dick and a greater sense of self-loathing. Instead of an operator, I'd get a pre-recorded message:

HEY, BABY. OOOH, STICK IT IN MY MOUTH AND MAKE ME TASTE IT! YOU'RE JUST A FEW STEPS AWAY FROM REAL PLEASURE!

Sometimes, I'd just jerk it to this message and call it a night. Other nights, I'd try and get further. If they asked or a credit card number, I'd just mash a random long number into the keypad in the hopes I'd punched in a real one by accident. Never happened. But, more often than not, I'd select an option on the main menu that connected me to ANOTHER phone sex line. Another dial tone. Another chance at Zork Sex with a real, live female ex-convict in India trying to make ends meet. Instead:

HEY, BABY. OOOH, STICK IT IN MY MOUTH AND MAKE ME TASTE IT! YOU'RE JUST A FEW STEPS AWAY FROM REAL PLEASURE!

Ever click on a link on a page of links only to be brought to another page of links? Yep, it was just like that. I would sit there for a fucking hour, hoping the next ring would fulfill its promise. Never happened. Then, I would do one of two things:

1. Give up and jerk off
2. Damn it all and dial a 1-900 number

Once or twice I dialed the 1-900 number, knowing full well the charges would appear on my parents' phone bill. I didn't even care. Such was my lust for hot action that I was willing to face the consequences despite knowing exactly what kind of embarrassment that all entailed. But it was almost worth it to get that ring and have a REAL chick pick up on the other end.

Girl: Hello?
Holy shit! Holy shit, it's a real chick! What do I do? Talk, you idiot! Fucking talk!
Me: Oh. Hi.
Girl: What's your name?
Make up a name! Something clever!
Me: Uh. Harvey.
Girl: Hi, Harvey. I'm Alexis.
Me: Uh. Hi, Alexis.
Girl: Where are you calling from, Harvey?
Me: Uh. Minneapolis.
Girl: Ooh! I bet it's cold out there. Isn't it?
Me: Uh...
Girl: Do you play sports, Harvey?
Me: Yeah. I play football.
Girl: What do you play?
Oh, my God. LIE! LIE LIKE YOU'VE NEVER LIED BEFORE! YOU'RE PART OF THE FANTASY TOO!
Me: I'm the starting middle linebacker.
Girl: What are you wearing, Harvey?
Me: Uh. Like. A t-shirt. And, uh, boxers.
Girl: Oh. I was hoping you'd be wearing one of those jockey strap things. Those are hot.
Oh my god, she's flirting with me! Oh my God! ASK HER THE MONEY QUESTION!!
Me: Well, what are YOU wearing?

(cut to 70 seconds later)

Me: Please... please call me, "Big Boy"
Girl: Give it to me, BIG BOY
Me: UNNNGGGHHHH!!!!!! (spurt)

(hangs up)

Was that worth $37.99 and an hour of scolding from my father? Well, at the time it was. Looking back, trying to dial phone sex wasn't the smartest thing in the world. And the end result was never all that great. But that moment of anticipation, that moment where you hope and pray that everything turns out just like you fantasized, only BETTER... That's something I remember. Something incredibly, horribly pathetic that I, for some bizarre reason, remember fondly. As I said, I have issues.

So perhaps Sunday's games won't be all that great. Maybe they'll suck a big fat donkey dick. That's almost beside the point. It's having a huge game to look forward to, to talk about, to get crazy excited about and picture in your head, that's the real fun anyway. Shit, it's the reason I watch football to begin with. It's the joy of the football season itself. So there you go. Championship games and phone sex. Will you find a more tortured analogy than that? Fuck and no.

Playoff Game Picks and Predictions

All games in the Jamboroo are evaluated for sheer watchability on a scale of 1 to 5 Throwgasms. And I'm boldly forging ahead and making picks.

Five Throwgasms

Patriots 63, Chargers 14. This sounds odd, but I'm willing to wager that going 16-0 has made the Pats a LESS cocky team than if they had gone 15-1 or 14-2. You go 14-2, you're great. But you're not special. You're not trying to become the team by which all other teams will be measured. So you can relax a bit. Let your guard up. Take Jessica Simpson to Mexico over the weekend and bang the hair dye right out of her. But if you go 17-0, you probably have a fairly deep appreciation of just how fragile this whole winning streak is, and just how hard it is to keep it going. You probably become obsessed with finishing off the task, to the point where you refuse to shave, or shower, or comb your hair. You probably start talking to lamps and what not. (You see, Simmons? I too can make wild assumptions about the collective mindset of an entire team!)

That's why I find it hard to believe the Patriots would come out flat and complacent against a Charger team that's just happy to have already proven people wrong. They shot their load in Indy. And now they get to go to Foxboro and get destroyed. I hope that's not the case, but I'm not optimistic.

Let us now turn our attention to Rodney Harrison. I've seen me a lot of dirty players in my time: Erik Williams, Bill Romanowski, any Bronco o-lineman, Hines Ward, Steve Wisniewski, Kevin Gogan, Chuck Cecil, etc. Basically, any player john Madden has ever slobbered over. But at least those assholes were all unapologetically dirty. Rodney Harrison is one of those fuckhead dirty players that tries and act all sportsmanlike after trying to make wine with your testicles in a fumble pile. "Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to grow my fingernails extra long and gouge you in the earhole when you weren't looking! My bad!" "Oh, was that your ankle I was stomping on? My good man, I thought I was simply replacing a divot in the turf!" What a fuckhead. If you're gonna be dirty, just be dirty. Don't pull this "Who, me?" shit.

And I hate this, "I'm not dirty. I just play hard" excuse. That's the "No, YOU'RE the asshole" technique. "Oh, I'm not dirty! I just put BB's under my knuckle tape and punch people after the play because I WANT it more than they do." Whatever. Harrison's a dick.

One note on Tom Brady: You're gonna hear a lot about Tom Brady and his "sixth sense" in the pocket this weekend. Announcers like to have you think that QB's have some kind of mystical power that allows them to "feel the rush". What they don't tell you is that there is a 350-lb. o-lineman two feet away from the QB yelling, "HOLY FUCK! LOOK THE FUCK OUT!" whenever a rusher gets by him. That tends to help.

Finally, we come to Marmalard. Christmas Ape has done a bang-up job demonstrating Philip Rivers' unreal douchiness over the course of the year. But the yelling at Indy fans really puts the cherry on the sundae. A QB is supposed to be the cool, calm, collected leader the team takes its cues from. But this asshole, WHO WASN'T EVEN ON THE FIELD FOR THE WINNING SCORE, spent the last few moments of the game not celebrating with teammates, but bragging about the win to a bunch of fatass Indy fans in the stands. What. A. Douche.

Giants 24, Packers 23. Simmons brought this point up a while back, and it can't be denied: The Super Bowl everyone wants (in this case, Pats-Packers) is rarely the Super Bowl everyone gets. And so it is here. If the Giants win, I think we'll all feel somewhat grateful. Because the collective Favre-Brady dicksucking that would ensue otherwise would be one you could hear all the way from Arizona. Gregg Easterbrook has already busted out his cum snifter.

One Throwgasm

Temple at Saint Louis

Last Week: 1-3 (3-1 vs. the spread) - Wow, I'm both disgusted and impressed with myself.
Overall: 4-4 (5-3 vs. the spread) - 5-3 vs. the spread? Suck on that, Brandon Lang!

Pregame Song That Makes Me Want To Run Through A Goddamn Brick Wall

"When The Levee Breaks" by Led Zeppelin. The editor who works next door to my office had a copy of "Hammer of the Gods" lying around the other day, so I picked it up and quickly scanned it for the mud shark story. In the book, Zeppelin's road manager disputes the story that John Bonham stuck a shark inside a groupie. The book quotes him:

The true shark story was that it wasn't even a shark. It was a red snapper and the chick happened to be a fucking redheaded broad with a ginger pussy. And that is the truth. Bonzo was in the room, but I did it. Mark Stein [of Vanilla Fudge] filmed the whole thing. And she loved it. It was like, "You'd like a bit of fucking, eh? Let's see how your red snapper likes this red snapper!" That was it. It was the nose of the fish, and that girl must have cum 20 times. But it was nothing malicious or harmful, no way! No one was ever hurt.

You'll never order red snapper in a restaurant again. At Silky Garrard's, maybe. But not at a restaurant.

Embarassing Cassingle I Once Owned That Will Not Fire You Up

"Unbelievable," by EMF. Scubert Dip, anyone? I'm a sucker for any song that finds a way to sample Andrew Dice Clay. Someone in 9th grade told me once, "You know what EMF stands for? Ecstasy Mother Fucker." I thought that was the most subversive, awesomest thing ever. I was an easy mark like that.

Note the extra floppy bicycle hat in this video, a fashion staple of the Eurotrash Club MTV set back then. Wubba wubba wubba.

Player That Deserves To Die A Slow, Painful Death

Patrick Crayton and the Cowboys' o-line. Jesus, what the fuck happened to you people? If Romo was rusty from being in Mexico, you assholes must have been in fucking Bali. Learn to catch. Learn to block. And protect my boy ROMO from defenses and tabloid scrutiny, you pricks.

Five Potential Key Injuries
• LaDainian Tomlinson (knee)
• Eli Manning (shock)
• Philip Rivers (just kidding. He can die in a fire for all anyone cares)
• Osi Umenyiora (exhaustion (NSFW))
• Terrell Owens (guts mashed)

Actual Wild Card Of The Week
Each week until all Wild Card teams are eliminated, I'll be picking an actual Wild Card of the week. This week's is Francis Begbie.

That lassie got glassed, and no cunt leaves here till we find out what cunt did it!!!!

Gametime Snack Of The Week

Pringles. It's a little disturbing to open a can of Pringles and see a stack of chips that are all exactly the same shape. And then you take a stack of ten and cram them in your mouth, and suddenly that's not such a big concern anymore.

Gametime Cheap Beer Of The Week

Budweiser. I'm baffled by the current Budweiser ad campaign. Are they really trying to convince me that Budweiser is actually good beer? "Cloudy beers hide imperfections!" Really? Well then, I better pour this Chimay right down the toilet! Great American Lager, my ass. It's fucking Bud. Know why I drink Bud? BECAUSE IT'S FUCKING THERE.

What really fucks me up about those ads is the fact that they hired Rob Riggle to star in them, and he doesn't tell any fucking jokes. Is that itself some sort of joke? You're fucked, Budweiser.

(NOTE: When I was in England ten years ago, certain Americanophile (?) Brits would order nothing but Budweiser at the pub, and pay a huge premium for it. I'm as proud an American as the next person, but that's just stupid.)

Sunday Afternoon Movie Of The Week For Colts Fans

The Hard Way. "Why don't you go tie your dick in a knot?" How about that James Woods? The guy sits in on a test run for 9/11 hijackers, gets stalked by Sean Young, makes my favorite guest appearance on the Simpsons ever ("A jittery Eskimo firefighter?") and plays a complete asshole in every movie he's ever made. What a badass. You know he scored 1580 on his SAT back when the SAT was actually challenging? Or that he's a volunteer LAPD officer? I wish he'd call ME Big Boy!

Gratuitous Simpsons Quote
"Now for my favorite part of the show... What does that say? Talk to the audience?! Ugghhh, this is always death."

Halftime Masturbation Kit
• For the guys: Movie star Anna Faris. You might remember Anna from Lost In Translation, where she played a character inspired by Cameron Diaz. In other words, she played an idiot. I'm pretty sure Cameron Diaz would lose a Tic Tac Toe match to an orangutan.
• For the gals: "Lost" star Josh Holloway. Look at the alignment of his nipples. It may be a clue to the secret behind the Dharma Initiative! And Cool Water? Does that mean his character will drown soon? Who's this Davidoff fellow? Is he with the Others? Is this picture a flash-forward? Or is it a flashback? Or is it a flash-forward to a moment when he's flashing back? So many layers to this puzzle...

Blatantly False, ProFootballTalk-Style, Fred Edelstein-esque Rumor Of The Week
WE HEAR... that Tom Brady will retire at the end of the year. Did you hear that? It's totally true!

Your Motivational Pregame Quote for The Weekend
"Fuck you, fuck you, and fuck you! Who's next?"
-Clarence

Enjoy the games, everyone.

The Divisional Playoff weekend is always the most exciting round of the playoffs. And this year, the four divisional games are uncommonly good. I can hardly wait. In fact, sitting here with my thumb up my butt just waiting for them to be played is excruciating. I need something to occupy my time between now and kickoff on Saturday afternoon. And nothing makes time fly by quite like Family Game Night™ (Family Game Night™ is an exclusive trademark of the Hasbro corporation. If you and an undetermined number of kin play a board game at night without the expressed written consent of the Hasbro corporation, the Hasbro corporation reserves the right to come to your house and hang your dog.)

So let's all bust out a game to play while we wait. Monopoly? Too competitive. Scrabble? Too challenging. Charades? Too queer. No, I think this occasion calls for Cranium. Cranium: the board game for people who can't decide what board game to play!

Now pick a color. Red? Fuck you. I'm red. I'm always red. Onto the challenges. Answers also provided below.

DATA HEAD

To win this factoid, your team must agree on the correct answer to the question below. I will read the question and start the timer after I pass the card to you.

QUESTION: When you turn your car on, does it return the favor?

ANSWER: No. IT'S A FUCKING CAR.

To win this Selectaquest, your team must agree on the correct answer to the multiple choice question below. I'll read the question and choices, then start the timer after I pass the card to you.

QUESTION: If Joe Buck were to flirt with you in a bar, you would:
A) Feel creeped out by his smile
B) Feel unnerved by his smile
C) Feel discomforted by his smile
D) Confide your skeeved out feeling to Aikman, because women always confide in queers
E) All of the above

ANSWER: I think you know full well what the answer is.

To win this polygraph, your team must agree if the statement below is true or false. I'll read the statement and start the timer after I pass the card to you

STATEMENT: Boy, Vince Young may have seriously injured himself on that play.

ANSWER: False.

CREATIVE CAT

To win this Sculptorades your team must choose one person who can get you to guess the answer on back by sculpting the subject in Cranium Clay with no talking or gestures. I'll read the hint aloud and start the timer after I pass the card to the artist

HINT: The main hobby of a 14-year old female Jacksonville fan

ANSWER:

To win this Sensosketch, your team must choose one person who can get you to guess the answer on back by drawing clues on paper with no peaking, talking, letters or symbols. The artist's eyes must stay closed. I'll start the timer after I pass the card to the artist.

HINT: Where Laurence Maroney tries to put the triangle peg.

ANSWER:

To win this Cloodle, your team must choose one person who get you to guess the answer on back by drawing clues on paper with no talking, letters or symbols. I'll read the hint aloud and start the timer after I pass the card to the artist.

HINT: What Philip Rivers specifically asks for during intercourse.

ANSWER:

STAR PERFORMER

To win this Cameo, your team must choose one person who can get you to guess the answer on back by acting out silent clues just like charades. I'll read the hint aloud and start the timer after I pass the card to the actor

HINT: Coach

/paints nose red
/stands with jaw agape
/holds hands out in perpetual stance of outrage
/would not be happy even if sharing a beer with Jesus fucking Christ himself
/shits pants

ANSWER

To win this Copy Cat, your team must choose one person who can get you to guess the answer on back by acting like this famous person or character. The actor should mimic their speech and actions, but say no names of the people or places. I'll start the timer after I pass the card to the actor

"I smoke cigars and have an IQ of 2. Last night, I tried licking cake batter off a still running Kitchenaid mixer paddle. My head is made of pure quartz. Somehow, there are people at my work who are just as stupid as I am, if not more so. I varnish my mustache. Employees at my restaurant often steal from the register because I am unfamiliar with math."

ANSWER

WORD WORM

To win this Zelpuz, your team must take the mixed up puzzle below and rearrange all the letters to find the answer. I'll read the hint and puzzle aloud, then start the timer after I pass the card to you

HINT: What Peter King will be administering to Brett Favre in front of special needs children after the Packers/Seahawks game.

PUZZLE: BMPULIKN

To win this Blank Out, you team must complete the puzzle below by filling in the blanks with the missing letters. I'll read the hint aloud and start the time after I pass the card to you.

HINT: Number of years the average Patriot fan has been a Patriot fan.

PUZZLE: S_V_N

To win this Lexicon, your team must agree on the correct definition to the word below. I'll read the word and definitions, then start the timer after I pass the card to you.

WORD: PERTURBATION
A) Mental excitement or confusion
B) What I do in the shower with green shampoo
C) Word Emmitt Smith uses when he means "permutation"
D) Constant shared mood of Jack Del Rio and Mike Tice

ANSWER?

Well, that was fun. Now, onto the REAL games.

Playoff Game Picks and Predictions

All games in the Jamboroo are evaluated for sheer watchability on a scale of 1 to 5 Throwgasms. And I'm boldly forging ahead and making picks.

Five Throwgasms

Jaguars 28, Patriots 27. Since my picks are inherently stupid and meaningless, I may as well go ahead and pick the Jags. If you pick the Jags, you get to boast about it if they win. If you pick the Pats, you're just another guy who made the sensible, correct decision. That's no fun. Far more enjoyable to be brazen and stupid. Ask Les Miles. Besides, the Jags seem to match up well with the Patriots. Like the Ravens and Eagles, they run the ball well and employ a cover corner good enough to shut down Randy Moss. Will this make a difference? Probably not. But may as well roll the dice.

I'll confess now that, should the Patriots lose, I'd join everyone else in feeling that these playoffs would lose a whole lot of juice. It would be fun to see the Pats go down. But is a Jags-Colts AFC title game as interesting as Pats-Colts, or even Pats-Chargers? Of course not. I enjoy watching Tom Brady play football, and I like seeing how Belichick schemes against high-octane offenses like Indy's. The truth is, I'm rooting for the Patriots AND against them simultaneously. I have no idea how that is possible. Yet, here I am. I'd like to see history made, just not by THAT team. For THOSE fans.

Packers 31, Seahawks 20. I have been on Vicodin all week to treat a back problem that has ranged from "excruciating" to "not quite excruciating, but probably will become so at any minute." I have no clue how anyone can get addicted to this crap. Oooh! I can't get enough of the grogginess and waves of mild nausea! This Vicodin is so irresistible! What a crock. I was expecting a good buzz. Instead I feel like someone spent all night fucking with the dimmer switch in my house. Bullshit. You let me down, makers of hydrocodone! You too, Queens of the Stone Age. That drug doesn't belong anywhere near "Feelgood Hit Of The Summer". Who throws a Vicodin party?

We all know that celebrities who claim to be in rehab for prescription pills are just using that as a cover for their addictions to way awesomer drugs like booger sugar and heroin. But if there is anyone out there who has ever legitimately checked into rehab for an addiction to Vicodin (*cough* FAVRE *cough*), I have to say, that is one LAMEASS addiction. Part of the fun of being an addict is telling people in rehab about all the crazy ass shit you did just to get high, or so I would assume:

"Then I woke up... IN HANOI!"

Vicodin doesn't make you do any of that. Unless I'm doing it wrong. Perhaps following the exact directions on the pharmacy label is for suckers. Maybe I need to snort that shit, or grind it up in a mortar and stir it into a tall glass of Bull Ice. Further research may be required.

Colts 34, Chargers 14. In which we see Norv Turner and Philip Rivers inevitably sink to the occasion. Perhaps MJD will drink enough during this game to gather up the courage to get Muff Stubble Girl's digits. Then again, I'm assuming she has them tattooed on her midriff somewhere.

Cowboys 16, Giants 13. And here's the most unpredictable game of the weekend. The Giants, who have looked like a real, live football team over the past three weeks, head into Texas Stadium to play a Cowboy team that's been flat since November. If any team is liable to suffer from the kind of letdown the Colts experienced in the 2005 playoffs (which took place in 2006. Stupid calendar-straddling season), it's probably this team. TO's limping. Romo's busy getting taking trips to Mexico for the sole purpose of acquiring VD. Sparano's on his way to Miami. Garrett is gassing up the bus to run over Wade. I fully expect the Giants to keep the lead until the 4th quarter, when the Cowboys get their shit together and win one of those dodged-upset games that are always a big fucking letdown to watch.

Playoff Pick Record: 3-1 (2-2 vs. the spread)

Pregame Song That Makes Me Want To Run Through A Goddamn Brick Wall

"Celebrated Summer" by Husker Du. Growing up in Minnesota means you are required by law to like Prince, Husker Du and The Replacements. Limited Warranty, not so much. Husker Du broke up in 1988 after the suicide of their longtime manager, and in part because of drummer Grant Hart's heroin addiction and singer/guitarist Bob Mould's speed addiction. Now THAT is fucking rock'n'roll. Beats Vicodin.

Oh, and "Celebrated Summer" is one of the greatest rock songs ever recorded.

Embarassing Cassingle I Once Owned That Will Not Fire You Up

"Rico Suave," by Gerardo. "You gotta know how to deal with a woman who can't let go, the price you pay for being a gigolo." So true, my man. You and I share a common bond like that. Gerardo here crams his videos full of hot chicks dancing around in skintight spandex skirts. This was a hugely successful strategy for making videos in the 80's. I don't know why more bands today don't copy that model. Oh wait, I know why. Because bands today that are not named Queens of the fucking Stone Age are gay. Gayer than Gerardo. No wonder they never play videos on MTV anymore. They lack quality pussy.

Gerardo rocks the leather-jacket-with-no-shirt look in this video, something I have wanted to try in the bedroom, but am unlikely to pull off. Also, be on the lookout for Gerardo switching up to the bandanna and hoop earrings. Totally makes him look like a pirate. A MEXICAN pirate. Muy peligroso! Don't bring that Gerardo into your parents' home! He's used to good ol' fashioned homestyle Spanish cookin'. If he tries your mom's shit, he'll be pukin'.

Player That Deserves To Die A Slow, Painful Death

Shaun Suisham. You shall pay for upsetting the Maj, Shaun Suisham. The Jews are the one species of flying monkey that you do NOT want to piss off. They hold those grudges forever. I'd tether your child to his or her pram, if I were you.

Five Potential Key Injuries
• Terrell Owens (ankle)
• Tony Romo (Cabo Wabo)
• David Garrard (hard out here for a pimp)
• Matt Hasselbeck (Mike Holmgren)
• Dallas Clark (no injury of any kind. Fucking Dallas Clark)

Actual Wild Card Of The Week

Each week until all Wild Card teams are eliminated, I'll be picking an actual Wild Card of the week. This week's is Mike Bloomberg.

Will he? Won't he? He could really shake things up! Don't cut into Obama's votes, Bloomy. Blacks already dislike Jews plenty.

Gametime Snack Of The Week

California Pizza Kitchen personal pizza. Home of once bizarre and now widely accepted pies such as BBQ Chicken and Thai Chicken, CPK has expanded their menu to include even more exotic ingredients, such as jerk chicken, carne asada and Japanese eggplant. What you may not is know is how many other kinds of strange pizza never made it out their test kitchen. The Fried Panda Bear And Red Onion pizza, for example. Or a Mario Batali favorite, the Mangino lardo pie, which is carved tableside. He practically melts in your mouth!

The Bazooka Gum Pizza also rated poorly. Though the comics under the box proved a big favorite with the Sussman family.

Gametime Cheap Beer Of The Week

Hamm's. You know, I don't know why people get on beer companies' jocks about marketing to youth. I see no pandering to children here. I just see a happy little bear, hoping to grab an ice cold can of Hamm's before frolicking in the meadow with his cuddly animal friends. Perhaps they'll sing a merry drinking song or two. Won't you join them? It'll be so much fun! And, lest you think that's a cookie jar, I assure you, it's a decanter. What does it decant, given that almost all beer is not decanted? That's up to your imagination!

Sunday Afternoon Movie Of The Week For Dolphins Fans

House Party. I bought the soundtrack to this movie hoping the danceoff song would be included.

Your love so goooood
Your love soooo fine
Ain't my type of hype, babay!

/knocks feet with David Givens

But it was fucking nowhere to be found. Such bullshit. Anyway, I've seen House Party a grand total of 4,000 times. Between Robin Harris ("I come from a town called Fresh Off A Cop's Ass! And I'm feeling a little homesick!"), John Witherspoon ("Public Enema?"), Martin Lawrence back when he was funny ("Dragon breath? Your shit is a little tart, too!") and Full Force ("We're gonna kick your fuckin' ASS!"), it's an embarrassment of riches. It's as closely in touch with the black community as I get. I especially like the scene where Kid accidentally sees the fat guy nailing his wife through their bedroom window ("Whose pussy, baby?!"). It's like that one scene in Sideways, only NASTIER.

Also, for the record, I think Play should have been declared the winner of the rap battle.

Look at him now. Already a has-been,
Let Uncle Play sing a rhyme that'll tuck your ass in.

Oh, snap!

Gratuitous Simpsons Quote
"Hmm. Lost a nail. Well, that's leprosy for you!"

Halftime Masturbation Kit
• For the guys: A NSFW centerfold shoot featuring Raquel Gibson. Courtesy of Ufford. I like the fact that the video contains NO interview.
• For the gals: Foreign indie flick staple Gael Garcia Bernal. With pubes!

Blatantly False, ProFootballTalk-Style, Fred Edelstein-esque Rumor Of The Week
WE HEAR... that Joe Gibbs resigned to spend more time "ungaying" his son, Coy.

Your Motivational Pregame Quote for The Weekend
"You guys should, uh, play like you belong here. Because you do belong here. Kinda. And just go, like, have fun. And, uh, play with confidence. Ugh. You guys blow. I'm going to Texas."
-June Jones

Enjoy the games, everyone. Best NFL weekend of the year.

The NFL playoffs are a bittersweet time for fans such as myself. Nothing beats a good playoff game, but I know in the back of my mind that this 2007 season is now officially living on borrowed time. It won't be long now before football is gone once again, and I am left alone, bereft, with only a wife, a daughter, and an extended network of family and friends to comfort me. And that blows.

There are now only 11 games left in the NFL season. Spread out over a period of five weeks. That ain't many. Just last weekend, there were sixteen games going on all over the place. Now there are just over half that many left to go. And, if one of them sucks, I can't go flipping around to find a better one. I'm stuck with that shitty Titans-Chargers game, and there's nothing I can do about it. It almost seems unfair.

Seasons tend to go by faster in my old age. I swear it was just days ago that Charlie Frye was the Browns starting quarterback, or that the Chargers were in complete disarray, or that Brett Favre's gin-soaked body was blissfully decaying before my very eyes. These days, it feels like Week 1 becomes Week 16 in a relative snap. It gets me thinking that there are a finite number of NFL seasons in my lifetime, and that they are flying by faster than I can keep up with them. And that makes me want to drink. Heavily.

I remember watching the World Series one year. And, after the Series had ended, I heard Pat O'Brien whisper to the audience in the post-game show, "Bad news, baseball fans: baseball season is over." And I remember thinking, "About fucking time. They play 5,000,000 baseball games a year." Not so with the NFL. You only get that shit once a week for a handful of months. And then it's gone. Baseball, by comparison, hangs around like a goddamn plantar wart.

That's why I feel compelled to treat each of these remaining 11 games with great care. To cherish them before they pass by. These are your last games of the year. Savor them, my friends. Savor them like a warm glass of Haffenreffer Private Stock. It's playoff time, bitches!

Playoff Game Picks and Predictions

All games in the Jamboroo are evaluated for sheer watchability on a scale of 1 to 5 Throwgasms. And I'm boldly forging ahead and making picks and predicting EXACTLY what will occur.

Five Throwgasms

Jaguars 28, Steelers 10. Najeh Davenport learns how to metaphorically shit the bed. Big Ben's partially functional nervous system causes him to begin uncontrollably dropping the ball without warning or provocation. Christmas Ape doesn't speak to me for the entire offseason.

Four Throwgasms

Seahawks 31, Redskins 10. They lose by 21! It's a sign from above!

Three Throwgasms

Bucs 24, Giants 16 Underrated Bucs defense helps Eli Manning feel like his old self again. Tom Coughlin blames all his players and you, yes you, the reader, for the loss. Jeff Garcia declares in the post-game show that his teammates all call him Pegboy.

Two Throwgasms

Chargers 37, Titans 3 Norv Turner savors his last playoff victory as a head coach. Chargers GM AJ Smith spends new extension money to build a four-star luxury villa inside his own ass, where he takes up permanent residence. Vince Young dramatically clenches a body part and grimaces.

Playoff Pick Record: 0-0

Pregame Song That Makes Me Want To Run Through A Goddamn Brick Wall

"Midlife Crisis" by Faith No More. Thanks to "Epic," FNM is largely credited with creating the whole rap-rock movement, something I'm quite sure they would like to take back. It's an odd designation, since FNM was such an underrated and wonderfully odd band. You haven't lived until you've listened to Angel Dust WHILE on Angel Dust. Bonus points in this video for the drawing and quartering.

FNM lead singer Mike Patton is a huge fan of menstruation. HUGE fan. Not only is it mentioned in the chorus of "Midlife Crisis," he even wrote a whole song about with his other band, Mr. Bungle. The name of that song? You guessed it. "Bloody Mary. Lyrics, please!

One day God had to get off his ass
He had to walk to the kitchen and get his own glass
To this glass he had to pour his own booze
For this, his woman had to pay the dues
Now all women must pay this terrible bill
That arrives every month against their will
A crescent hang over, half-irritated smirk
Full migraine cramps, and Maxi-pads don't work!

That's so wrong, it's right.

Embarassing Cassingle I Once Owned That Will Not Fire You Up

"The Ballad Of Jayne," by LA Guns. LA Guns guitarist Tracii Guns (The extra I is for Intriguing!) was an original member of Guns 'N' Roses (formed by the merging of LA Guns with Axl Rose and Izzy Stradlin's band, Hollywood Rose). But Guns quickly quit the band because he hated Axl and formed a new LA Guns to record this song. Holy shit, did you make a mistake, Tracii. Surely it was worth enduring the occasional broken bottle attack from Axl to stick around for some sick, sick "Appetite" royalties.

"The Ballad Of Jayne" was written as a tribute to Jayne Mansfield (link NSFW - Yay, old porn!). But you won't find Mansfield and her extremely large breasts anywhere in the video for this song. Instead you will find a band that kind of looks like Motley Crue but is not Motley Crue playing by a very large pool. You'll also find lead singer Phil Lewis rocking that must-have fashion accessory of the late 80's, the oversized top hat. If you're wearing an oversized top hat, and your name is not Saul Hudson, you are a fucking douche.

More stuff worth pointing out here. The bass player is wearing gloves WHILE he plays the bass. I always thought the bass was the most unchallenging instrument to play, and now I have proof. Also here: Tracii Guns rocking Chrissy Hynde's bangs, and smoking throughout the entire video. Smoking on the set? That guy don't give a fuck about nothin'! (swoons)

Fantasy Player That Deserves To Die A Slow, Painful Death
The fantasy season's over, so throughout the playoffs we'll be highlighting one player from each week who's egregious fuckups cost his team the win. For Week 17, that player is Troy Williamson for the Vikings. Fuck you, Troy Williamson. You fucking suck. I'm surprised you can hold onto your toothbrush while brushing your teeth in the morning. I'm surprised you can eat a bite of food without it falling right into your lap. You fuck. I hope the next thing you catch is gonorrhea. And that you don't drop it.

Five Potential Key Injuries
• Jeff Garcia (back)
• Vince Young (hangnail)
• Eli Manning (advanced erraticism)
• Shaun Alexander (Denver Boot around leg)
• Philip Rivers (grief after discovering Nantucket red shorts are missing from locker)

Actual Wild Card Of The Week
Each week until all Wild Card teams are eliminated, I'll be picking an actual Wild Card of the week. This week's is George "The Animal" Steele.

My goodness, he certainly is unorthodox!

Suicide Pick Roundup
Last week's suicide pool pick of Tampa Bay was incorrect. Off the board now are Tampa Bay, Minnesota, Baltimore, Tennessee, Jacksonville, Pittsburgh, Indianapolis, New Orleans, San Diego, Cleveland, Washington, Chicago, Seattle, Denver, Dallas, Green Bay and New England. Final record for the year: 10-7. Jesus, that is fucking awful. I said it before, but it bears repeating: Betting in suicide pools is dumb.

No more suicide picks for this year. But I shall leave you with one final way to commit suicide, and that is to close your garage door and leave the engine running. Does this actually work? If so, I'd totally pick this as my way of committing suicide. Carbon monoxide poisoning is an insidious way of dying. You don't even know you're dying. You just nod right off, and BOOM! You're off to meet Gandhi and Dorothy Stratton. Nice. Sounds quick and painless to me. I may try it this weekend, just for fun.

Gametime Snack Of The Week

The classic Chicken Finger Sub. I ordered enough chicken finger subs in college to support the entire Maine economy for two full decades. And I never ate them for a meal. No, no, no. The chicken finger sub was deployed strictly as a between-meal hold-me-over. It's not like I didn't take advantage of the school dining facilities. I did. Often. And it's not as if I didn't eat enough while at the dining hall. It was always all-you-can-eat. They never pulled a Frying Dutchman on me. And yet, I'd inevitably get back to the dorm and have this conversation with my roommate:

ME: What do you want to do?
ROOMMATE: I dunno. Wanna order?
ME: YES.

Every college student has their staple go-to food. For some, it's the steak and cheese sub. For others, it's a sausage calzone. College students are very much creatures of habit. Once they settle into a groove with one item on Romeo And Juliet's Pizza And Subs (or whatever your pizza/sub place is called) menu, they stick with it. I was no different. The beauty of the chicken finger sub is that it combines the appeal of a "basket" appetizer with the substantive qualities of a really fucking large sandwich. I was not above ordering one, finishing it, and then immediately ordering another. The delivery guy looks at you real funny when you do that.

Gametime Cheap Beer Of The Week

Natural Light. You'll notice that there's a Natural Light beer and a Natural Ice beer (which really does taste like it's had ice melted directly into it), but there is no regular Natural Beer. Perhaps there is a legal reason behind this. Perhaps the ATF requires that Anheuser Busch place a word directly between "natural" and "beer," because I can't think of any LESS natural beer than Natural Light.

For you 12-year-olds reading out there (and Sitemeter indicates that you comprise 98 percent of the reading audience for this column), Natural Light (or Beast) is likely to be the very first beer that you get drunk off of. There are two main reasons for this. One: Natural Light is cheap, and the sibling/senior who is nice enough to get you beer isn't gonna waste good beer on you. The second reason is that businesses that sell Natural Light are 85 percent more likely to employ a person who is unable to read the letters or numerals on a person's ID. As long as you have a shiny hologram on that thing, you should be all set.

Wondering how many beers it takes to get you drunk the first time? I'm glad you asked. When I was a freshman in Minnesota, I got a ride home with a senior from swim practice. If you were wondering what I might have looked like in a Speedo back then, here is a visual indicator:

If there had been rosemary in the pool, I would have been delicious. But I digress: The senior told me I should get drunk some time.

ME: But how many beers does that take?
SENIOR: You? Two beers. Tops.

I was insulted by this assessment. I was a big guy. A really, really, big guy. Very sturdy. Very hefty. Surely I could hold out longer than that. A couple weeks later, I was at my first house party with booze. My friend had managed to get his brother to buy a Coors Light Party Ball for the house. The Party Ball was invented specifically for teenagers too poor to afford a quarter barrel. It was basically a goldfish bowl with a tap. Anyway, this was my opportunity to show everyone I could hold my liquor. After two sips, I was buzzed. After half a cup, I was drunk. After two beers, I was fucking shithoused. I ended up whipping my cock out in front of a girl named Cindy and then threw up onto my cock. I call that move the Traditional English Trifle Cock. Your first drinking experience will likely produce similar results.

For you ladies out there planning on drinking Natural Light, I strongly suggest you put your hair in a ponytail for the evening.

(Ed. Note: Any mention of Natural Light requires a link to this picture of Bryan Leitch.)

Sunday Afternoon Movie Of The Week For Dolphins Fans

The Godfather. Let us take a moment to reflect on Kay Adams, the single most gullible chick in the history of cinema. I'd like to talk about two moments in particular. The first is when Kay and Michael are hanging out at Connie's wedding, and Kay asks about Luca Brasi. Michael then tells her this charming little anecdote:

"Luca Brasi held a gun to his head and my father assured him that either his brains, or his signature, would be on the contract. That's a true story."

Okay, well that's rather alarming. Shouldn't you be heading for the exits right about now, Kay?

"That's my family, Kay. It's not me."

Oh well, that's reassuring! You see, Kay, only my FAMILY are murderous thugs. I just happen to share their blood, and therefore many of their characteristics. I'm also extremely close to them. No chance I'll end up just like them!

Fast forward to the scene where Michael, fresh off of returning from Sicily, sneaks up on Kay in the park. And Kay is all like, "Where the fuck have you been? I called and wrote and shit!" Then Michael springs this one on her:

"I mean in five years, the Corleone Family is going to be completely legitimate. Trust me. That's all I can tell you about my business."

Okay, so maybe my family is still garroting people and shooting politicians in the head. But I swear, in FIVE GODDAMN years, we totally will stop doing it cold turkey. That's all I can tell you, sweetheart. Don't go asking me any more than that, or you'll taste the back of my hand. But trust me! I'm good for it!

And what does Kay do after this? She drops everything and gets in the fucking car with him! Are you shitting me, girlfriend? Are you really falling for that, "I came here because I need you. Because I care for you" shit? Listen ladies: when a stoic ex-boyfriend of yours who works for a notorious Sicilian crime syndicate disappears for a year, right after a police chief and gang leader have been slain, without so much as a phone call, then shows up out of the fucking blue one day, won't tell you anything about what happened, and claims he wants to marry you and bear his kids, FUCKING SLEEP ON IT.

What a dumbass. Great flick, though.

Gratuitous Simpsons Quote

"The wars of the future will not be fought on the battlefield, or at sea. They will be fought in space, or possibly on top of a very tall mountain. In either case, most of the actual fighting will be done by small robots. And, as you go forth today, remember always your duty is clear: To build and maintain those robots. Thank you."

Halftime Masturbation Kit
• For the guys: A classic Britney Spears photo from an old Esquire magazine shoot. Yes, she's been completely ruined now, and they probably had to Photoshop out 30 extra pounds, 4,000 cellulite dimples and 12 assorted mustard stains from this photo. But when you put a woman in a white sweater and white pumps and nothing else, my peepee can phase all that out. It has a tremendous ability to focus when surrounded by distraction. I could masturbate in the middle of a street riot if necessary.
• For the gals: A shirtless Chris Klein. Chris ain't the sharpest knife in the drawer, but at least he withdrew from Katie Holmes before the thetans wafted inside of her.

Blatantly False, ProFootballTalk-Style, Fred Edelstein-esque Rumor Of The Week
WE HEAR... that when the Ravens fired Brian Billick, team brass needed three hours to explain the concept to him.

Your Motivational Pregame Quote for The Weekend
"Who wants it more?"
-The NFL's slogan for the playoffs. I don't get it. Doesn't every team pretty much want it the same? If the Jaguars lose to the Patriots, I'm pretty it's because the Patriots were way fucking better, and not because the Jags out-desired them. And why do you even have to advertise the NFL playoffs? Is playoff game awareness some sort of nagging problem? Annoying.

Enjoy the games, everyone.

There is a phenomenon unique to being an NFL fan that can really, really, really fuck up your holidays. I call it the Nanking Special, wherein all your fantasy teams lose, AND your favorite team loses, all in a single weekend. Now, is it fair to compare a lousy day of football to the systematic bayonet gang rape of Chinese schoolgirls during a particularly brutal Japanese occupation during World War II? I say yes. I mean, we're talking about one incredibly shitty weekend here. I don't think it's an inappropriate analogy at all.

One of the nice things about playing fantasy football is that, if your favorite team loses, you at least get a chance to salvage the week if your fantasy team wins. But when ALL of those teams shit the bed over the course of a single Sunday, it is a most unpleasant feeling indeed. The anal crowbar I got weekend was compounded by the fact that both my fantasy team and my real team not only lost, but did so in the most important games of the year. And not only did they lose, they got fucking killed. And not only THAT, but I had to sit through the Redskins' beatdown of the Vikings while my parents watched with me, and peppered me with outrageously irritating questions, such as:

-"Say, who's that Number 94? He's a big fella! How much do you think he weighs?"
-"Do YOU weigh that much?"
-"Are the Redskins the ones in red?"
-"Is that the coach of the Vikings? He looks like a real dweeb. What kind of coach is he supposed to be?"
-"So, if they win, they make the playoffs? What happens then?"
-"Don't you think some of these guys are gay?"
-"Have you seen Sweeney Todd yet? Johnny Depp is amazing!"
-"Do the Vikings always play like this? They don't look very good."
-"Has anyone ever come back from that much?"

GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!! FETCH THE CYANIDE!

So yeah, not a good day. I also lost to my Dad in Scrabble by one point. That fucking letter V. WHY CAN'T YOU MAKE A TWO LETTER WORD, YOU PIECE OF SHIT TILE?!

The Games

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

Five Throwgasms

Titans at Colts: Both the Redskins and Titans can clinch playoff spots this week by beating good teams with "nothing" to play for; playoff teams that will probably be resting their starters during the second half, if not earlier. I'm no expert at picking games, but I will tell you this: Either the Skins or the Titans will find a way to fuck it up. Don't underestimate Jim Sorgi's burning desire to impress his parents the one time a year he actually gets on the field.

Patriots at Giants: This game will be simulcast on both NBC and CBS on Saturday night. So even the NFL now acknowledges that the NFL Network sucks.

Cowboys at Redskins

Four Throwgasms

NONE

Three Throwgasms

NONE

Two Throwgasms

Niners at Browns
Vikings at Broncos

One Throwgasm

Bills at Eagles: Most fantasy leagues are over now. If your fantasy league is still playing this week, go up to your commissioner and punch him in the nuts for being a fucking idiot. None of the games listed below have any playoff implications, outside of the 3-4 seeds in the AFC playoffs. Fuck 'em.

Seahawks at Falcons
Lions at Packers
Jaguars at Texans
Panthers at Bucs
Bengals at Dolphins
Chiefs at Jets
Steelers at Ravens
Rams at Cardinals
Chargers at Raiders
Saints at Bears

Pregame Song That Makes Me Want To Run Through A Goddamn Brick Wall

This is the week that most critics release their Top 10 lists for the year. This is also the week that most critics bitch about having to compile said list. "Wah wah! My editor made me do it! Wah wah! It's not fair to rank art! Wah wah! I can't possibly pick just 10! Wah wah! I have to listen to free music all day long and get paid for it! Wah wah! I have a gaping maw between my legs!"

Hey Mr. Critic Man, shut the fuck up and hand the list over. You know damn well you enjoy being an arbiter of taste and a factor in award consideration, so shut the fuck up. Top 10 lists are useful because they help readers find out if they've missed anything interesting over the course of the year, or if there's a good recommendation for what's out now. Get off your high horse and rank that shit. Here were my 10 favorite songs from this year:

1. "I'm Designer," Queens of the Stone Age
2. "Reckoner," Radiohead
3. "Misfit Love, "QOTSA
4. "Killing the Light," Black Rebel Motorcycle Club
5. "Teddy Picker," Arctic Monkeys
6. "The Prayer," Bloc Party
7. "Era Vulgaris," QOTSA
8. "Come Alive," Foo Fighters
9. "Intervention," Arcade Fire
10. "The Silence Between Us," Bob Mould

Got ten you like? Post them in the comments. Then we can all experience the deep satisfaction of foisting our tastes upon others.

Embarassing Cassingle I Once Owned That Will Not Fire You Up

"Scared," by Dangerous Toys. "Scared" is Peter King's favorite song. Witness this lyric:

"Hey man now, I think I like being scared,
And I wish you all were there,
Man I really really think, really think that I think,
I like being scared."

The inspiration is unmistakable. I also assume King jerks off to pictures of Brett Favre while listening to "Teas'n, Pleas'n"

Fantasy Players That Deserve To Die A Slow, Painful Death
Tony Romo, Terrell Owens, Steven Jackson, Chad Johnson, Greg Jennings, Jeremy Shockey, Kolby Smith, LenDale White, Nate Kaeding, and the San Diego defense. Thanks for nothing, you assholes. Especially you, Shockey. I had to start Anthony fucking Becht in the championship game. I didn't even know he was still in football. FUCK.

Five Potential Key Injuries
• Tony Romo (my PR-24)
• Jeremy Shockey (the man I hired to kill you)
• Chad Johnson (my CRV going 60 mph)
• Terrell Owens (my nina, then you know I'm straight trippin')
• Greg Jennings (the razor wire trap I set up outside your door)

This Week's Suicide Pick

Last week's suicide pool pick of Minnesota was incorrect. Fuck. Off the board now are Minnesota, Baltimore, Tennessee, Jacksonville, Pittsburgh, Indianapolis, New Orleans, San Diego, Cleveland, Washington, Chicago, Seattle, Denver, Dallas, Green Bay and New England (Record for the year: 10-6). We once again pick a both a suicide pool team and an actual way of committing suicide. This week's pick: Tampa Bay, and choking on vomit that is not your own in a mystery that is best left unsolved.

Gametime Snack Of The Week

Leftover Christmas Cookies. You are looking at meringue mushrooms, and meringue mushrooms fucking rule. My mom didn't make them this year. God dammit mom, step up to the plate.

I'll eat any cookie, but some Christmas cookies are better than others. Those boringass sugar cookies you decorate? Those suck. I'll take a gingerbread man or one of those nougatey things with the powdered sugar over that any day.

Gametime SCOTCH Of The Week

The Dimple Pinch. I got this as a gift this year. Best name for a Scotch ever? Fuck and yes.

Sunday Afternoon Movie Of The Week For Ravens Fans

Monty Python Live At The Hollywood Bowl. There are three main Python films, but there's also a sketch movie (And Now For Something Completely Different...), and this live film. I highly recommend it. It's got Sit On My Face, the parrot sketch, the Whizzo Chocolates sketch, the argument sketch, Silly Walks, the albatross salesman, and more. Plus, the entire audience is on cocaine. Can't beat that.

Looking for a good top 10 movie list from someone who goes to the movies more than once a year, unlike some big fat dipshit who's too cheap to spring for a babysitter? Check out Christmas Ape's choices. My favorite movies this year were "No Country For Old Men" and "Superbad." But those were just about the ONLY movies I saw all year. At least I chose wisely.

Gratuitous Simpsons Quote
"Don't be alarmed, Apu. Just go about your daily routine like I'm not wearing the hat."

Halftime Masturbation Kit
• For the guys: Tyra Banks in what appears to be a sweatkini. I'm not sure this is a great look on Tyra, but it may be just what you're looking for. I know porn is broken down into fetish groups, but those fetish groups get awfully stale for me. You've got your latex fetishes, your stocking fetishes, your foot fetishes, etc. BORING. I think it needs to be far more specialized. I need a extreme denim cutoff subcategory. Or a knit bikini category. Or a tight sweater tank top category. That would be TREMENDOUS. Right now, there's no easy way to search for a video of chick doing rails off a guy's cock, and that's a shame.
• For the gals: Friday Night Lights star Taylor Kitsch. If you're into rock hard man-nips, bulgy veins, and windswept bangs, Taylor is your boy.

Blatantly False, ProFootballTalk-Style, Fred Edelstein-esque Rumor Of The Week
WE HEAR... that Bill Parcells will replace Cam Cameron with Romeo Crennel. But, if Crennel is not available, Parcells will then replace Cameron with some other kind of very fat puppet. Possibly Grimace.

Your Motivational Pregame Quote for The Weekend
"Call it."
-Chigurh

Enjoy the games, everyone. And a Happy New Year to all of you. New Year's Eve is always the most overrated holiday of the year. Oooh, look! We get to pay $100 to stay at ONE bar all night! And we get to drink all we want, except for any non-well liquor or imported beer! And the line at the bar goes six deep, and there's only one bartender! And I lost my wristband! What fun! Fuck that. I strongly recommend hitting a house party. You can come over to my place, if you enjoy going to sleep at 9:30.

Ho Ho Ho! Welcome to this very special Christmas edition of the Jamboroo. Now, I've made my wishlist, and I think it's in pretty good shape:

• Rope
• Duct Tape
• Gasoline can filled with 89 octane
• Chair
• Car trunk containing Jillian Barberie
• Bic lighter
• Muddy Mudskipper cereal bowl caddy

I gave this list to my mom. At first she was puzzled, but I think I eventually swayed her. Anyway, time to break down the holiday, THROWGASM-STYLE!

All games and other items in the Jamboroo are evaluated for sheer watchability and or awesomeness on a scale of 1 to 5 Throwgasms.

Five Throwgasms

The Nutcracker: I'm gay for the Nutcracker. You can't listen to the dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy without thinking of Brady Quinn.

Christmas Day Breakfast: Smoked salmon? Fuck and yes. I could eat 900 lbs of smoked salmon. My blood may already be 50% mercury. You could tattoo temperature gradations on my body and probably get an accurate reading.

Egg Nog: No mention of egg nog would be complete without a little Dave Attell. "I wanna get a little drunk, but I also want pancakes."

Stockings: I like the fact that you don't have to wrap stuff to put in a stocking. The stocking does that job for you. Reaching into a stocking is also like playing the "3 Strikes" game on "The Price Is Right." You never know what you're gonna pull out of there. Could be a watch. Could be a travel bottle of Cuervo. Could be a snake. You just don't know!

Not Showering Until Dinner

Redskins at Vikings: Hey Michelle Tafoya, leave Purple Jesus the fuck alone. Yeah, I saw your Sunday Conversation with him, where you asked him questions like:

"When you were 7, you were playing on the street with your brother. What happened next?"

Gee, why do I think you knew the answer to that question already? Let me rephrase the question for you the way you really wanted to ask it:

"Hey, you saw your brother die right in front of you. Can you relive every horrible detail on camera so I can win a sports Emmy?"

Or this one you asked him right after that:

"Seeing your brother die in front of you, how did that make you feel?"

Oh, I'm sure it made him feel terrific. You whore.

Eagles at Saints: 5 out of 5 conservative white people agree: Brian Westbrook is a hero!

Giants at Bills: Starring Tom Coughlin as the Heat Miser. Did you know the Snow Miser has the exact same hairstyle as Dick Versace?

Texans at Colts

Four Throwgasms

Browns at Bengals: An orgy of fantasy points awaits!

Dolphins at Patriots: This could have been the most unique game in NFL history. What would have been the odds that the best team in NFL history and the worst team in NFL history would exist within the same season? Or that they would reside in the same division? Instead, the Dolphins are now just another forgettably awful team. It's a shame. I live for novelty matchups.

Three Throwgasms

Shopping: I don't mind the first hour of Christmas shopping. It can be fun poking around and looking for shit, especially if they're handing out free food in the Williams Sonoma. And if there's a Chick Fil-A in the mall, then it's automatically a good day. It's after that first hour, when you're ready to leave but have tons of shit left to buy, where it becomes hell on earth. Memo to all mall personnel: You don't have to have the fucking thermostat up that high. I'm dying in here, and I'm sick of carrying my jacket.

Also, a big fuck you to any store that gives me merchandise in a bag that has paper handles. After two hours, that shit starts to dig in like piano wire.

Turkey: I've had my fill of Turkey at Thanksgiving. Do we really need a reprise? Time for ham, or duck, or something else new. Have you tried goose? It's like duck, only bigger. And greasier. I like any food that comes in confit form.

Christmas Cards: I'm at the age now where people send each other Christmas cards, featuring pictures of their kids. It's a subtle way for people to tell you LOOK AT HOW GORGEOUS MY FAMILY IS! WE LIVE WELL! I enjoy coldly analyzing all of their children's physical flaws. "Jeez, that kid got fat!"

NOTE: If you include one of those "family year in review" letters in your Christmas card, you're a douche. I don't care about that whitewater rafting trip you made in August. Fuck your raft.

Broncos at Chargers
Packers at Bears

Two Throwgasms

Steelers at Rams: They're gonna blow it!

Cowboys at Panthers: You stay the fuck away from this game, Jessica Simpson. My league title is on the line. Go give your daddy another backrub.

One Throwgasm

Wrapping: I fucking hate wrapping. Especially if there isn't a table available to wrap on. Wrapping gifts on the floor is like playing Twister for three hours straight. I fuck up wrapping gifts in every conceivable way. I misjudge the width of the box and can't get the paper to meet in the middle. Or, I use too much paper and can't make proper creases on the ends. And ribbon? Holy fuck. Calibrating the right length of ribbon requires an engineering degree. I can't make a curlicue to save my life. When I'm done wrapping a gift, it looks like the gift got into a fight with a cat.

I hate wrapping. I also hate:

The Gift Wrap Counter: Jesus. Will you hurry the fuck up, lady? How fucking hard is it to wrap a book? It's not like I asked you to wrap a hedge trimmer.

Getting the Tree In The Motherfucking Stand

Rain: Rain on Christmas is like getting the flu before your bachelor party.

Mistletoe: I bet Erin Andrews wishes nothing but hateful shit on the creepy asshole who sired this tradition.

Falcons at Cardinals: After blowing up at his o-coordinator last week, Kurt Warner went home and told his wife that Anne Landers was a boring old bitty. He was more animal than man!

Raiders at Jaguars
Chiefs at Lions
Bucs at Niners
Ravens at Seahawks
Jets at Titans

Pregame Song That Makes Me Want To Run Through A Goddamn Brick Wall

"Angry Chair", by Alice in Chains. Nothing says Christmas quite like the soft sounds of "Angry Chair" playing in the living room. Bonus points if you're family has left you and you're suffering from heroin addiction! Poor Layne Staley. You know, if he had blown off his head, he totally would have been more revered.

I have an angry chair in my own home. It has a picture of Sarah Jessica Parker on it. Bitch.

Embarassing Cassingle I Once Owned That Will Not Fire You Up

"Digging In The Dirt," by Peter Gabriel. I blame Peter Gabriel for Bono.

Fantasy Player That Deserves To Die A Slow, Painful Death

Tom Brady. Yes you, Dreamboat! How dare you come along, sweep fantasy owners off their feet with impressive performance after impressive performance, charming them and their friends, and then abandon them right at the exact moment they needed you most? YOU HEARTBREAKER! Fantasy owners don't deserve that kind of shabby treatment, okay? Next year, they're gonna find themselves a more stable QB. And they're not going to ever give you visitation rights to their newborn leagues! Not even during Christmas! Suck on that, you insensitive prick. You're no keeper!

Five Potential Key Injuries
• Tarvaris Jackson (calf)
• Todd Collins (calcification)
• Garrett Wolfe (elfism)
• Troy Williamson (Grandma run over by reindeer)
• Matt Leinart (ornament hook through penis)

This Week's Suicide Pick

Last week's suicide pool pick of Baltimore was incorrect. Thanks for nothing, Matty Stover. Off the board now are Baltimore, Jacksonville, Tennnessee, Pittsburgh, Indianapolis, New Orleans, San Diego, Cleveland, Washington, Chicago, Seattle, Denver, Dallas, Green Bay and New England (Record for the year: 10-5). We once again pick a both a suicide pool team and an actual way of committing suicide. This week's pick: Minnesota (What the hell, I've got nothing to lose), and jumping off a bridge.

I don't get the bridge scene in "It's A Wonderful Life." George Bailey is about to kill himself by jumping off the bridge. Then Clarence pretends to be drowning in the water, so George then jumps off the bridge and into the water to save him. Well, shouldn't he have died while doing THAT? Why should intent matter in determining if you survive a bridge jump? Or was George just gonna jump off the bridge so he could then freeze to death in the water? Christ, that sounds horrible. His life must have sucked BALLS.

I love the horrible alternate dimension at the end of the movie, especially the line about what happens to George's wife. After George shakes the shit outta Clarence, he fesses up, "ALL RIGHT! She's an old maid! She never married!" GAH! Oh no! The horrors! She had to live her life as an independent woman! With no man to provide for her! She never got to be barefoot and pregnant while fetching her man more fireside whisky! THE PAIN!!! I'm also a big fan of the mean universe Martini The Bartender:

"Look here! We sell hard drinks for men who wanna get drunk fast."

Goddamn right. Preach on, my man. Too bad the movie got all nicey nice at the end. Oh well. Best to stick to the lost ending.

Favorite skit EVAR.

Gametime Snack Of The Week

Holiday M&M's. Putting holiday M&M's in a candy dish is like throwing free crack down an alley. I am powerless to resist the delicious candy crunch. They even make mint flavored ones, and HOLY FUCK are they good. They've come out with all kinds of new M&M flavors lately: mint, dark, almond, sand, etc. I'm down with all of them. You could put Daulerio's stool inside a candy shell and I'd eat it. And I have!

Every year when I was a kid, my mom would pick up one of those gingerbread house-making kits for my sister and my brother and me to make. She'd also pick up about eight bags of holiday M&M's to decorate. They make excellent garlands at the edge of the roof, or a fabulous doorknob. That gingerbread house would sit on our kitchen table for weeks. And I'd pick off every single M&M on it, until the house was covered in divots marked by faint traces of red and green dye. Not a good-looking gingerbread house. By New Year's, the thing looked the kind of house you'd see on "The Wire."

While we're talking M&M's, I'm extremely disturbed by the current M&M's campaign. I never asked for an M&M that resembles Brad Garrett, and seeing that image does not make me any hungrier.

Gametime Cheap Beer Of The Week

Natty Bo. Ever take a train ride past Baltimore and wonder how that city ended up like that? It's the Natty Bo!

Every year at my old ad agency, there was a gift swap. One year I had nothing to give, so I ran down to a convenience store and grabbed two 40's. One was Olde English. The other was Colt .45. They came in a black plastic bag. I tied the bag in a knot on top, stuck a gift bow on it, and stuck it on the table. When one of the guys at work opened it, he looked immediately at me. I guess this was not surprising behavior on my part. I ended up with a $20 Old Navy gift card. Hooray, carpenter pants!

Sunday Afternoon Movie Of The Week For Ravens Fans

A Christmas Story. I have only one beef with A Christmas Story. and it is this: There's that scene at the end of the movie where Ralphie has gone through all his presents, only to realize that he didn't get the Red Rider BB Gun. But later that night, his dad points out the special "forgotten" gift hidden over in the corner of the room, which of course turns out to be the gun.

I first saw this movie when I was 8 years old. Every year after I saw it, I would spend Christmas Day hoping the EXACT SAME THING would happen to me. That, if I didn't get what I wanted, that my Dad would surprise me with a hidden "bonus gift" after stringing me along for a couple hours. That never fucking happened. Instead, this would happen.

Me: So, is that all?
Dad: Is what all?
Me: Are these all the gifts? Didn't forget anything?
Dad: Uh... no.
Me: Are you SURE?
Dad: What are you, a fucking retard?

I never did get that that miniature sports car I saw on Double Dare, or the skateboard/bike hybrid I saw on "Remote Control" or Kelly Bundy spread-eagled on my bed. God damn that movie for getting my hopes up.

Gratuitous Simpsons Quote

"There's only one fat guy who brings us presents, and his name ain't Santa."

Halftime Masturbation Kit
• For the guys: A festive Lucy Pinder and Jordan. How can Santa compete when he only has one fun bag?
• For the gals: Some dude's package in man's holiday lingerie! I'm guessing this product is a big hit on Christopher Street. Men's lingerie is a very weird and disturbing segment of the fashion industry. I go to Marshall's to buy underwear once in a while, and 90 percent of everything else on the rack consists of hip briefs and thongs. If you're heterosexual and you wear stuff like this, you owe people an explanation.

Blatantly False, ProFootballTalk-Style, Fred Edelstein-esque Rumor Of The Week
WE HEAR... that Donovan McNabb accused Pam Oliver of being a "big, fat liar." And if J. Whyatt Mondeshire needed further proof that Donovan McNabb is an Uncle Tom, the fact that McNabb called Oliver fat and not "Onionazztastic" should help his cause.

Your Motivational Pregame Quote for The Weekend

"Hey jackweed, I get more action in a week than you've had in your entire life. I've got houses in L.A., Paris and Vail. In each one, a 70-inch plasma screen. So I suggest you wipe that stupid smile off your face before I come over there and SMACK it off! You feeling strong, my friend? Call me elf one more time."
-Miles Finch

Enjoy the games, everyone. My very best to you and your family over Christmas. If you travel, I hope your trip is as safe and painless as humanly possible.

PROGRAMMING NOTE: There will be an abbreviated Jamboroo next week due to the fact that I have the week off and will be mainlining Cabernet directly into my system. I'm quite sure you'll live.

Hit the lights, motherfuckers! As we near the playoffs, it's time to dial up the intensity. That's why I'm busting out this special Metallica-themed Jamboroo this week, complete with Dan V's kickass new NFL logo. Dan, you make Picasso look like that elephant that paints refrigerator art. Metallica Week also means-AH! I'm putting on-AH! My best-AH! Fuckin-AH! James. HETFIELD VOOOOOOICE-AH!!!!!

It's an excellent slate of games this week. Let's not waste any time. SO COME ON! JUMP IN THE FI-AH!!!!!

The Games

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

Five Throwgasms

Jets at Patriots: There is a freaky, 400-lb. guy at my gym (besides me) who spends way more time than is normal walking around nude in the men's locker room. And his toenails are black and rotten. I think he might be homeless. It's terrifying and horrible. I do everything I can to not to look at his disgusting feet, and yet sometimes I peek anyway. And then I recoil in disgust and think to myself, "FUCKHEAD! Why did you do that?!" And then I go and have nightmares about those toes. Ugh.

This game is kind of like that. It promises to be a thorough emasculation of Eric Mangini and everything he stands for, care of Bill "Phantom Lord" Belichick. In theory, I don't "want" to watch it. And yet, I am inexorably tempted to sneak a peek. Just to gross myself out. Hey Mangini, take a look to the sky just before you die. It's the last time you will.

Jaguars at Steelers
Eagles at Cowboys

Four Throwgasms

Bills at Browns

Three Throwgasms

Redskins at Giants: This game was kept on Sunday Night despite NBC's ability to exercise flex scheduling. NBC then moved the Skins-Vikings Week 16 game to Sunday Night. In other words, for two weeks in a row at the end of the year, NBC deliberately chose to showcase the Redskins. Watching the Redskins try and score a touchdown is like watching Kige Ramsey try and take off his 12-year-old niece's training bra. C'mon, Dick Ebersol. Stop jerking off to old episodes of "Kate & Allie" and take a little more care with your schedule.

Bears at Vikings: I've been somewhat restrained in the Simmons-bashing this season, but this fucking passage on Purple Jesus will not stand.

Regardless, the contest for "Coolest Newcomer of the Year" is down to two candidates:
• Great Adrian Peterson
• Isaac from "Real World Sydney"

Jesus fucking Christ. Are you shitting me, asshole? What kind of lameass nickname is that? Hey, I've got a nickname for Tom Brady! Awesome Tom! Isn't that awesome? And isn't he totally like Sheriff Sophia from "Kid Nation"? Huh?

Assfag.

Cardinals at Saints

Two Throwgasms

Lions at Chargers: Reader pemulis emailed earlier this week to warn me and the KSK gang about a video called "Kids in the sandbox." He describes it thusly:

"So it starts out innocently enough, a kind of ugly naked woman rubbing a dildo on this dude's dong head, and you kind of can't tell what's going on, then it zooms into all close so you can see it's clearly a boner and a dildo in her hands, and then BAM!!!!!! She rams the dildo down the guy's peehole. And there is dude screaming, there is a fucking seriously disturbingly intense look on the woman's face (NOTE FROM DREW: I assume it resembles the look that will be on Belichick's face on Sunday), and the fucking thing is on a loop, so when you bring your head back to see what else could possibly happen, its just the same thing over and over again. If you guys can hear that, it's the sound of my dick still screaming."

And that about sums up your Detroit Lions season. One big dildo in the dickhole.

Packers at Rams: Ryan Grant is now a top 5 fantasy back. This whole "Always draft a running back in the first round" theory is getting dumber by the second.

Colts at Raiders
Broncos at Texans
Titans at Chiefs
Falcons at Bucs
Seahawks at Panthers

One Throwgasm

Ravens at Dolphins: Of all the franchises to go 0-16, you would have expected it to be the Lions, or Cardinals, or Bengals, or Jets, or some other franchise with a rich history of eating shit. Remember, the Dolphins have only had five losing seasons since 1970, including a stretch from 1989 to 2004 where they NEVER finished under .500. Yet here they are, about to become the worst team in the history of the NFL. It makes you want to trap Cam Cameron under ice.

Peter King wrote this week that Cameron should be NOT be fired. And I understand that stance. Cameron inherited a total fucking mess, and most coaches should be given a couple years to turn things around. But this is a special circumstance. Cameron will be stained permanently by this. His credibility is fucking gone. If he tries getting in a player's face ever again, all the player has to say is, "Why the fuck should I listen to you? You're the asshole that went 0-16." There's no retort to that. He's screwed.

Bengals at Niners: The Thing That Should Not Be.

Pregame Song That Makes Me Want To Run Through A Goddamn Brick Wall

"Disposable Heroes", by Metallica. Now Metallica, as you know, no longer exists. Oh sure, there's a band by the name of Metallica that tours across the country and releases the occasional shitty album. But that's not really Metallica, much in the same way a chicken nugget isn't really chicken.

No, the Metallica I know featured Cliff Burton and released four of the balls-stompingest albums ever made (NOTE: Burton died before "...And Justice For All" was recorded, but contributed songwriting duties, particularly on "To Live Is To Die." When you're 12 years old, that song is just about the deepest shit you could possibly listen to.

When a man lies
He murders some part of the world
These are the pale deaths which men miscall their lives
All this I cannot bear to witness any longer
Cannot the kingdom of salvation take me home?

FUCK. WHAT'S IT ALL MEAN, MAN?!)

Anyway, of those first four Metallica albums, my favorite was "Master of Puppets."I'll be honest. I could pick any song from that album for this slot. "Battery" has that trademark Metallica "Gentle acoustic bit before the guitars kick in and blast a rocket up your ass" introduction. The title track is epic and features demonic laughter. And I love me some demonic laughter. HA HA HA HA HA HA. Call a stranger sometime and do that. It's more fun than the law allows. Literally.

"Orion" is the signature really long kickass instrumental track. And everything else, from "Sanitarium" to "Leper Messiah" is legendary shit. But I'll stick with "Disposable Heroes," a brutal anti-war song that, oddly enough, makes me want to go fight in a war. If you're someone interested in setting off a military insurrection, I suggest simply disseminating copies of this song to the men on the front lines. You can't listen to the words "BACK TO THE FRONT!" without wanting to find a Halliburton VP and beat him to death with a shot put. Two other notes on Metallica while we're here:

• By the late 80's, I had amassed a collection of Metallica t-shirts so large, I automatically qualified for food stamps. I bought them at a record store that also sold obscure Metallica singles. Peep this cover art and tell me Shawne Merriman won't look like that in two years. I even had the same t-shirt Lars wore in the "One" video, back when Lars was cool and not some fuckface art collector. All of them were designs from Pushead. Nobody can draw a skull like Pushead. Anyway, I left the shirts at my parents' house after heading to college. There they stayed for a solid decade or so. Until about three years ago, when my mom, doing some spring cleaning, called me to ask if she could throw them out. Like an idiot, I consented. They were old shirts. I never wore them anymore. What did I care?

Not but a month later I saw Mary-Kate Olsen rocking a vintage Pushead "Harvester of Sorrow" design. Those old shirts could probably now sell for $100 each at your local secondhand clothing store (if you don't mind my old dandruff. Side effect of banging one's head). And I just let them go in the trash. It's so depressing, I have to go listen to "Blackened" now. Everything I see has been thrown into obscurity. NEVER-AH!

• After Burton died, Metallica released a tour video called "Cliff 'Em All" as a tribute to their fallen friend. The opening of the video featured the band getting high, walking into a convenience store, grabbing some beer and then walking out without paying. Badass. Now Kirk Hammett spends his days riding ponies around Napa to "clear his mind." Jesus fucking Christ.

Embarassing Cassingle I Once Owned That Will Not Fire You Up

"Until It Sleeps," by Metallica. Ugh. WHAT. THE. FUCK. I sort of liked the Black Album. Sorta. So when they announced "Load" was coming out, I got a big fat rawk-on and picked up this single before the full album was released. The song sucked enough, but then this video hit. Ulrich is wearing a blue feather boa. Hetfield is trapped by antlers. There's some sort of giant bird eating little red people. It's a fucking disaster. I can't even talk about it, it's all so painfully bad. Fuck you, Samuel Bayer. Stick to directing videos with little girls dancing around in the bee outfits, you fuck.

Fantasy Player That Deserves To Die A Slow, Painful Death

Reggie Bush. Fuck you, Reggie Bush. Oh, I'm sorry. Did I call you Reggie Bush? I meant to call you by your real name: Amp fucking Lee. Bush, you are nothing more than a C-grade scatback. Know why they're called scatbacks? Because scat is another word for shit. In other words, you are a shitback. I'd rather have Chuck fucking Levy on my team. Some job saving New Orleans you did, Buster. There are still areas of the city that haven't been rebuilt, AND I BLAME YOUR WEAK YPC AVERAGE!

It seems Kim Kardashian has taught you a thing or two about being famous without having accomplished anything. Hey Reggie, I've got a killer subprime mortgage rate I can offer your parents. PSYCH!

Five Potential Key Injuries
• Kolby Smith (ankle)
• Ray Lewis (adrenaline starting to flow)
• Roy Williams (thrashing all around)
• Chris Henry (acting like a maniac)
• Lorenzo Neal (WHIPLASH!)

This Week's Suicide Pick

Last week's suicide pool pick of Jacksonville was correct. Off the board now are Jacksonville, Tennnessee, Pittsburgh, Indianapolis, New Orleans, San Diego, Cleveland, Washington, Chicago, Seattle, Denver, Dallas, Green Bay and New England (Record for the year: 10-4). We once again pick a both a suicide pool team and an actual way of committing suicide. This week's pick: Baltimore, and blowing your head off with a sawed-off shotgun while listening to "Fade To Black".

According to Wikipedia, "Fade to Black" was written by Hetfield after some of his equipment was stolen during a gig in Boston. The song is anecdotally credited with helping many teenagers cope with depression and thoughts of suicide. I wonder how many of those kids "saved" by the song would feel if they knew the inspiration behind the song was the fact that the lead singer lost his fucking amp. I lost my watch once. I bought another one. I didn't write a seven-minute suicide anthem about it. But that's muso types for you. They love their distortion pedals. Death keeps me warm. Now I will just say goodbyyyyyyyyye...

Gametime Snack Of The Week

Cheetos. Cheetos have long been stigmatized as the preferred food of white trash. But, I ask you, can ANYONE resist a Cheeto? Regardless of social strata? They're delicious. I particularly enjoy exploring the Cheeto bag to seek out the fattest Cheeto I can find. Bonus points if it's good and gnarled, like an old tree trunk. One bite and I am in Crunchtown, USA. I prefer extruded food whenever possible. I also like to bust out my redneck overalls when I eat my Cheetos. Behold!

I found this picture while doing a Google Image search for "Cindy Margolis". Go figure.

If you want to enjoy a Cheeto without looking like a complete pig, I suggest pouring them into a bowl. Eating Cheetos out of the bag is what will get you in trouble. But put them in a wooden bowl? SHEER FUCKING ELEGANCE. You and your rich friends now have yourselves a guilty little treat. Bully to you!

Gametime Cheap Beer Of The Week

Haffenreffer Private Stock. "Why don't you have a seat, baby? I'm gonna bust out a very special bottle for us to share. Have a look. Oh, no no no! You see, this is Mr. Haffenreffer's Private Stock. This stuff isn't available to the general public. You have to, uh, pre-order it. They only make 156,000 barrels a year. Care for a glass?

"Is it always this bitter? Generally, yes. It's for a more refined palate. It was originally meant for cows. Have another sip. Just relax your throat and let it slide right down. What do you mean, you feel groggy? You should probably have more. It'll pep you up. Are you awake, baby? Only one of your eyes is open, and it's kind of shooting around all over the place. Perhaps we should make love now. Does that sound good? Well, you didn't say yes, but you didn't say no either!"

Sunday Afternoon Movie Of The Week For Dolphins Fans

Your Friends & Neighbors, featuring music by Apocalyptica, a cello quartet from Finland that mainly covers Metallica songs. But they also do forbidding versions of Christmas songs, too! Listen here. If thought "The Little Drummer Boy" was depressing as shit already, you ain't seen nothing yet.

As for the movie itself, you will not find a more thorough study of horribly selfish and nihilistic people. I saw this thing 10 years ago and still can't decide if I liked it or not. The best(?) scene is the one featured above, where Jason Patric confesses to his friends that the best sex he ever had was when he participated in the gang rape of a kid named Timmy Carter back in high school gym class. He makes this confession while sitting in the steam room. I avoided steam rooms permanently after seeing this scene. That steam gets pretty dense. Who the fuck knows what's going on in there. It's not worth the joys of sitting in excessive humidity.

God, that scene still freaks me out. I'm certain it was written by a wwtdd.com commenter and not by Neil LaBute.

Gratuitous Simpsons Quote

"You see, epidermis means your hair. So technically it's true. That's what makes it so funny. Pardon me for a moment... Ha HA!"

Halftime Masturbation Kit
• For the guys: Fitness model Tina Rigdon. Pfft. That sling bikini isn't practical!
• For the gals: The past few weeks, some of the image links for the female portion of the HMK haven't worked. The links themselves were correct, but when put into HTML code, redirected to some other shit. There's only one way to make it up to you ladies, and that is to play THE MCCONAUGHEY CARD! No woman can resist a man this laconic!

Blatantly False, ProFootballTalk-Style, Fred Edelstein-esque Rumor Of The Week

WE HEAR... from Pro Football Talk that "Michigan's interest in (Cam) Cameron is tied to whether he is fired by the Dolphins. So if he's not fired, Michigan apparently won't make a play for him. If Cameron is fired, then it's a different story." So, if Mr. 0-16 is fired, then he's undesirable. But if the Dolphins are dumb enough to keep him, he's one hot fucking job candidate! Michigan, apparently, just loves the chase.

Your Motivational Pregame Quote for The Weekend

"The horsemen are drawing nearer
On the leather steeds they ride
They have come to take your life
On through the dead of night
With the four horsemen ride
Or choose your fate and die."
-From a song that was NOT inspired by Notre Dame football. FUCK Notre Dame.

Enjoy the games, everyone.

Over Thanksgiving weekend, I watched two college games that went into overtime. One was the LSU-Arkansas game. The other was the Tennessee-Kentucky game. There was nothing about either of these games that was not beyond fucking awesome. At one point, I totally thought LSU was gonna win. Then I totally thought Arkansas was gonna win. And then I went BACK to thinking LSU was gonna win. And so on. I was riveted. And I don't even give a shit about Louisiana, Arkansas, Tennessee or Kentucky. Those are retard states. If an asteroid destroyed all of them, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be sad, especially if Emeril Legasse were killed in the blast.

Now, I know this space is usually reserved for cheap, gratuitous dick jokes and flagrant displays of my music and film taste. And rest assured, it still is. Like this one time I was masturbating and I cleaned it up with Charmin, only Charmin's a very delicate tissue, so little bits of it stuck to my cock, then I had to spend a solid five minutes trying to get the residual pilled Charmin off my cock, only to end up turned on again. We've still got plenty of time for things of that nature. But the Jamboroo is also a haven for new and crazy ideas as well. Who called for the abolition of the PAT? I did. Suck on that, Football Outsiders.

That's why I'm calling on the NFL to switch to the college overtime format. Now, I know this idea is totally original and revolutionary. No one could have possibly thought of it before me. Perhaps you aren't prepared for just how fucking radical this is. That's why I've prepared a simple FAQ to help answer your questions about it.

Q: Why switch to the college overtime format?

A: Because it's fucking sweet. There's a shitload of scoring, and going for it on 4th down, and two-point conversions, and all the exciting stuff that makes football great. It's like regular football, on steroids. In fact, since regular football is already on steroids, it's like regular football, on steroids that haven't even been synthesized yet. Remember that Boise St.-OU Fiesta Bowl? Imagine that kind of ending during a playoff game. I'd need a catheter, it would be so cool.

Q: But doesn't that dilute the sanctity of the game?

A: I thought about this as well. And here was my conclusion: FUCK THE SANCTITY OF THE GAME. Who gives a shit? Are there any fans of college ball who wish they had the NFL's overtime format? Or that they had ties back? No. The purity of the game is overrated. The whole reason these games are played is to entertain fans. And college overtime is kickass entertainment. The average NFL overtime game now consists of one team winning the toss, mounting a decent drive, then positioning themselves for a lameass field goal to win the game. BOR-ING. I like it better when you gotta match the other team TD for TD. SCORE OR DIE, BITCH!

One other bonus: You get to squeal with delight as you watch the players go through the agonizing roller coaster of emotions during the overtime. You should see those college kids on the sideline. They treat it like it's life and death! It's great theater for me, the viewer who has nothing on the line. Put it in the NFL, and there'd be so much handholding on the sidelines, Jeff Garcia would stain his girdle.

I don't give a shit if it's a gimmicky way to end a game. I like gimmicks. Hey, when's the next Weird Al Yankovic album come out? That's guy's hysterical!

Q: Yeah, but if they went to the college overtime, wouldn't pussy coaches like Joe Gibbs kick a field goal on first down at the 25 and then pray his defense hangs on?

A: He sure would. And that's what I like about the college overtime: It weeds out all the pussy coaches. Only the coaches with balls the size of Stephen Furst's head survive. Say goodbye to Joe Gibbs, and say hello again to Buddy Ryan!

Q: What about stats? It's kinda lame when a QB is credited with 5 TD passes, 4 of which came during the overtime.

A: It is kinda lame. Then again, the fuck do I care? So some records get broken in an unnatural form. BFD. Does it really take away from your enjoyment of the game? No. Let me tell you one more reason why college overtime would be awesome in the NFL: FANTASY STATS. Let's say you're playing against Tom Brady this week. Looks like you're really up shit creek, right? Not so fast! Turns out you're playing Horse Balls Anderson the same week he has a 10-TD performance in a 7-overtime shootout! Plus he got lots of crazyass two-point conversions! Nice!

Q: Yeah, but couldn't you get fucked over in fantasy for the same reason?

A: Yeah, I guess. But still, what a way to lose! There's nothing more fun in fantasy than bitching to friends about how your team got completely ass-raped thanks to some fluky performance from one of the other guy's players in the Sunday night game. ("I was up by 40, but he had Romo! Motherfucker!") Now it can happen every week!

The real reason I want the college overtime to happen is because it's another chance to watch MORE football. Same reason I want Saturday afternoon football back. Most NFL overtimes don't last very long. And, if they do, it's because both teams fucking suck. At least, with the college overtime, those sucky teams would find new and creative ways to piss the game away. A regular Dolphins-Niners game would be tantamount to skull rape. But that same game going into college overtime? MAGIC!

Think about it, league officials. If the games are longer, then that's more ad revenue for you. Why, soon we could do away with "60 Minutes" altogether. And that would be great, because if I see one more goddamn piece about a child piano prodigy, I will burn a fucking Steinway in effigy. So make it happen, Goodell. And don't listen to Paul Zimmerman when you do it. He's an old pile of shit.

The Games

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

Five Throwgasms

Steelers at Patriots: To those of you that would like to see the Pats go 19-0 just to shut up the '72 Dolphins, I'll reiterate a point I made earlier in the year I made on KSK: Are the '72 Dolphins or their fans really that annoying? So they have a drink every year when the last unbeaten team loses. Big fucking deal. It's not like they do it on live TV. Besides, they're all practically dead now. And it's not like you get obnoxious Dolphins fans at the bar running around going, "14-0 in '72, BABY!!!!!! WOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!"

Jesus, that's nothing compared to the tidal wave of douchebaggery that would wash up if New England went undefeated. It could last fucking decades. Belichick will replace the Dolphins' annual tradition by ritually slaughtering a baby calf and consuming it raw. Fuck, those Patriot fans are annoying as shit RIGHT NOW, and the season isn't even finished yet. Are you telling me that's worth shutting up Larry Csonka? The cure is worse than the disease, I tell you!

Four Throwgasms

Cardinals at Seahawks: Again, it's Leitch vs. Ufford! And this time, the playoffs could be on the line! The stakes are even higher! Whose writing is more florid? Who gets to boast more about how little sleep they get? Who's befriended more fellow writers? Who's more likely to listen to a TV On The Radio CD from beginning to end? This could decide it once and for all!

Giants at Eagles

Three Throwgasms

Colts at Ravens: Those Ravens are so poised! I'm not even sure the Baltimore players know they have a coaching staff.

Redskins at Bears
Chargers at Titans

Two Throwgasms

Bucs at Texans
Vikings at Niners
Cowboys at Lions
Panthers at Jaguars
Rams at Bengals
Raiders at Packers
Browns at Jets
Chiefs at Broncos

One Throwgasm

Dolphins at Bills: It's time to call it. The Dolphins are gonna go 0-16. Their best shot at winning at least one game came and went with the Jets game. Not only did they lose, they got fucking destroyed. And the Bills, the team they nearly beat, get them at home this week. Left on the schedule are Buffalo, Baltimore, New England and Cincy. They're screwed. I'm sorry, Dolphin fans. I really am. It blows. At least you'll get a chance to draft Colt Brennan now, or whichever college QB is arbitrarily thrown at the top of the world's mock drafts.

Saints at Falcons

Pregame Song That Makes Me Want To Run Through A Goddamn Brick Wall

"It's So Easy", by Guns N' Roses. I remember the first time a friend lent me a dub of Appetite to listen to. And when this song came on, and when Axl shouted out, "You think you're so cool. Why don't you just... FUCK OFF!" well, that was just about the greatest thing ever. I felt like I was listening to something I shouldn't have, and very few songs make me feel that way anymore. Except for the occasional Cannibal Corpse song, of course. Should I be listening to "Hacksaw Decapitation?" No, I should not.

"It's So Easy" is just such a fucking MEAN song. It really fit in well with my attitudes towards girls back then. Back then, girls wouldn't give me the time of day. So when I heard the lyrics:

Ya get nuthin' for nuthin' if that's what you do,
Turn around bitch, I got a use for you.
Besides, you ain't got nuthin' better to do,
And I'm bored.

Man, that really puts things in perspective for me. Was I the most well-adjusted kid on my block? Fuck and yes.

For about a year, I thought Slash was the guy who sang this track, because the vocals on it are so diametrically opposed to the Axl's on "Jungle". And sometimes, I still like to imagine that Slash really is the one singing it. I don't know why. Maybe because Axl went insane, gained 700 pounds and started making techno music. That might have something to do with it.

Embarassing Cassingle I Once Owned That Will Not Fire You Up

"Roam," by The B-52's. Jesus. I really liked this song once? Christ, I'm gay. I feel like The Big Lead. Though I bet that Kate Pierson was an absolute wildcat in the sack. Very bouncy lady. Remember "Candy?" You know damn well Iggy Pop hit that shit.

If I may, I'd like to say how very nice it is to have the musical technology that we have today. I remember getting excited in the 1980's when they introduced the clear cassette tape to music buyers. Until then, all cassettes came in the same off-white color. When they switched to clear plastic, my mind was blown. "Holy shit! You can see the tape spools! That is awesome! It's like I'm listening to the future!" Yeah, those clear cassettes aren't so impressive anymore.

Bonus Christmas Music Rant

They play emo Christmas songs at my gym. I'm not kidding. This is a real musical genre, and it must be destroyed. Listen to this steaming wet pile of shit at your own risk. My associate Maj said it best, "Holy crap, that song makes me want to go to the mall and start throwing seventh graders off of the second floor." Indeed. I realize that liking music is totally subjective, and I don't like people who judge the musical taste of others. But if you like songs like this, you deserve to have a chainsaw shoved up your ass.

Fantasy Player That Deserves To Die A Slow, Painful Death

Laurence Maroney. Fuck you, Laurence Maroney. Not only do you suck, but you've managed to suck while playing for the most prolific offense in NFL history. Way to go, Laurence. If you were a flavor of Kool Aid, you'd be Bloody Stoolade. Assface. And only Fishburne gets to rock the Laurence with a U. I'm downgrading you to Lawrence until further notice.

Five Potential Key Injuries
• Jeff Garcia (back)
• Chris McAlister (composure)
• Jonathan Ogden (Hammerheadism)
• Kenoy Kennedy (frozen in carbonite)
• Jon Kitna (God not actually real)

This Week's Suicide Pick

Last week's suicide pool pick of Tennnessee was correct. Off the board now are Tennnessee, Pittsburgh, Indianapolis, New Orleans, San Diego, Cleveland, Washington, Chicago, Seattle, Denver, Dallas, Green Bay and New England (Record for the year: 9-4). We once again pick a both a suicide pool team and an actual way of committing suicide. This week's pick: Jacksonville, and driving off a cliff with Geena Davis in the passenger seat.

Was Geena Davis hot? My penis and I have wrestled with that question on occasion. She's got lips like Jolie. But she's got the body of a WNBA power forward. And she changed by the movie. Thelma & Louise Geena was nice. Accidental Tourist Geena was dowdier than a CalTech grad. I'm not quite sure what to think.

Gametime Snack Of The Week

Wasabi peas. I'm not down with wasabi peas. I like my rice cracker/nut mix just fine. There's no need to add this bizarre Japanese astronaut food to it. And they're fucking HOT! You may as well insert them directly into your sinuses. The burn lets you know they're working!

Japan has contributed so much to international cuisine. Sushi is tremendous. And if everything I ate were fried in tempura batter, I wouldn't object. Yet some of the shit Japanese people like to eat is beyond disgusting (and I say this knowing full well we Americans more than reciprocate). I went to Japan once. 97 percent of all Japanese desserts are made with some sort of jellied bean paste. I assure you it's as horrible as it sounds.

Gametime Cheap Beer Of The Week

King Cobra Premium Malt Liquor. 40 fluid ounces of pure alibi. You can't be held accountable for what you do after downing a bottle of this shit. You'll black out and wake up in Moscow, only to realize you're right in the middle of orchestrating an international shipment of methamphetamine while simultaneously fucking a pony.

I like the fact that King Cobra, like all malt liquors, is named after something that can kill you. It's very appropriate. This is some aggressive, deadly shit. Once you get to the bottom third of the 40, we're talking about drinking pure turpentine. Beware!

Sunday Afternoon Movie Of The Week For Dolphins Fans

No Way Out, which features one of the bitchinest sex scenes of all time (they do it in the limo! And the jolly black chauffeur almost gets to watch!), and is a damn good movie to boot. Here's the plot: Kevin Costner gets involved with the mistress of Gene Hackman, who is his boss. Then, one night, Hackman murders her in a fit of rage, which Costner witnesses. As Costner flees the scene, Hackman sees him running away from the house but doesn't recognize him. Costner is then assigned by Hackman to find the guy he saw fleeing, so that Hackman can pin the murder on him. In other words, Costner is charged with tracking himself down and framing himself! Now THAT, my friends, is a complicated plot. That's why Sean Young's tits are there, to give your noggin the occasional breather.

Gratuitous Simpsons Quote
"I'll join! I'm filled with piss and vinegar! At first, I was just filled with vinegar!"

Halftime Masturbation Kit
• For the guys: Former Playboy model Brooke Richards. Fact: 40 percent of all Playboy models are named Brooke.
• For the gals: A shirtless Milo Ventimiglia. I'm getting a little tired of "Heroes" killing off characters only to bring them back an episode later.

Blatantly False, ProFootballTalk-Style, Fred Edelstein-esque Rumor Of The Week
WE HEAR... that Joe Gibbs had to ask a referee if he could call back-to-back timeouts. He then asked the same referee what year it was, then requested a copy of that day's newspaper to verify it.

Three Questions Sideline Reporters Should Ask But Won't
I'm ditching this section. It's dumb. Well, dumber, I should say.

Your Motivational Pregame Quote for The Weekend
"I don't like people who come here: 'Ooh, we did it this way, we did it that way.' I just wanna go do it this way. If you like. If you don't... Team playing? I call it team individuality. It's a new, it's like a management style. Again guilty, unorthodox, sue me."
-David Brent

Enjoy the games, everyone.

This weekend marks the end of the college football regular season. College Football: Where Momentum Goes To Die!™ For years, after the end of the college regular season, the NFL would broadcast two afternoon games on Saturday in December. But starting last year, when the NFL Network began broadcasting its own Saturday night game, those two afternoon games suddenly, and inexplicably, disappeared.

WHAT. THE. FUCK.

This rant is aimed squarely at Paul Tagliabue, who presided over this idiotic scheduling change, and Roger "The Ginger Hammer" Goodell, who has allowed it to continue for yet another year. Listen very carefully, you two, to what I am about to say:

FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU BLIND.

Why the FUCK did you get rid of Saturday afternoon football in December? What possible purpose could it serve? Is it because you want the NFL Network game to be some kind of showcase game or some shit like that? Well, FUCK THAT. Fuck your network and fuck you. And fuck Bryant Gumbel.

"Ooh, look Cris! The (looks down at paper) Pack-ers of... Green Bay? Really? Green Bay has a team? I thought Green Bay was just a paper mill town! Anyway, the Pack-ers have scored another touchgoal! That bearded fellow throwing the goatskin is quite adept!"

I can fully appreciate a Saturday night game without being deprived of the previous games in the afternoon, thank you very much. Last I checked, the Sunday night games on NBC do just fine as part of a daylong triple-header. Ideally, December should be a time when you get an orgy of NFL football on both Sunday AND Saturday.

So why the fuck isn't this happening? I remember hearing about the advent of the Saturday night game last year and thinking to myself, "Oh, great! Now I can watch three games that day!" I was excited to watch MORE football. See how that works, Tweedledee and Tweedlebuttfucker? When I found out the day games were eliminated, I didn't think to myself, "Oh boy! Now I can really focus on that night game!" I thought, "FUCK THOSE FUCKING FUCKS. FUCK. KILL. MAIM."

I expect this kind of stupidity from college football ("Hey, this season's getting pretty exciting! Let's all take a month off!"), but not from you. Without any NFL games on Saturday, there's no football to watch at all. I have to watch college basketball a good eight years before it begins to get interesting, or the fucking Skins Game, or some other bullshit like that. It's like the offseason has already started. And the NFL offseason is already SEVEN FUCKING MONTHS LONG, okay? I don't need a reminder of that during the season, you two. Christ, it's already Week 13. I'm running out of football here, God dammit!

These games are precious to me. I'd like to watch as many of them as possible. If you restore the Saturday afternoon games, fans like me can, you know, FUCKING WATCH THEM, and make even more money for the TV networks, and for you. See how that works? I'm blindly loyal to your product. Yet you seem to view this as some sort of problem. Why would you scrap those games? Now I gotta spend my December Saturdays talking to my wife, or reading, or carving my initials into my arm, or going fucking Christmas shopping. GAH, Christmas shopping! See what you two have reduced me to?

Two years ago, Tiki Barber and Larry Johnson staged one of the best fantasy back duels in recent memory on a Saturday afternoon. I remember watching it in a bar. It was awesome. And now, such a lovely Saturday afternoon is no longer possible. Why? Fuck if I know. So, Paul and Rog:

BRING THE FUCKING SATURDAY AFTERNOON GAMES BACK OR I WILL FIND YOU AND TEAR OFF YOUR SCROTUM AND THEN WIPE MY ASS WITH IT AND THEN FEED IT TO YOU.

I call that move the Pakistani Beef Jerky. Don't make me give it a whirl.

The Games

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

Five Throwgasms

Packers at Cowboys: Are you a Packer or Cowboy fan that no longer lives in your hometown? Well then, you get to spend Thursday night in a crowded bar! Yes, the best NFC game of the year is only available on the NFL Network, and on local stations in Dallas Milwaukee, and Green Bay. This is the result of squabbling between the NFL and the big cable carriers. Here are some fun quotes from both sides of the debate. And by "fun," I mean "retarded."

Roger Goodell: "The NFL Network was created simply as a vehicle to bring more football to fans."

Really, Rog? Is that why you then eliminated the Saturday afternoon games? To bring more football to me? I guess that less literally IS more! Oh, thank you, kind sir!

Comcast Chairdouche David Cohen: "We will protect our customers from having to pay for a network that we don't think all of them would necessarily want to view."

You mean there are cable networks that not EVERYONE would want to view? "Niche" channels, as it were? Say it ain't so! I know I spend my time watching EVERY SINGLE FUCKING NETWORK available on my system. Can't get enough of that Eternal Word! Or Fine Living! I can't imagine a world where the purpose of cable television is to present customers with variety! Dumbfuck.

But wait, there's more! From Time Warner VP Of Aggravated Idiocy Ron McMillan: "We're not hearing from our customers about this."

A cable company not hearing from customers? Could it be because they NEVER ANSWER THE GODDAMN PHONE?

And finally, from the Double-J himself: "The cable companies are screwing with our fans, if you will."

Yes. The cable companies are fucking you over. But just them! The NFL is completely innocent! All it did was move programming that had previously been available for no additional charge onto their own network in order to get more money out of you! Don't you see how magnanimous a gesture that is?

I hope both sides get ass cancer.

Jaguars at Colts: With all of the Colts' injuries, along with their inevitable post-Super Bowl general malaise, there won't be a better opportunity for the Jags to overtake Indy in the division. That's why they'll lose this game by about 30.

Four Throwgasms

Patriots at Ravens: The Patriots are a mortal lock to break the all-time team scoring record held by the 1998 Vikings. The coordinator for those Vikings? Why, Brian Billick, of course. Those Vikings scored 556 points, roughly 456 more points than the cumulative total of all Billick-coached teams since!

Bengals at Steelers: Stay tuned for World Championship Harness Racing on the Heinz Field turf just before the game! George Toma's rolling over in his grave as we speak!

Three Throwgasms

Lions at Vikings: Purple Jesus is back! Just in time to shred all the other ligaments in his knee! Thanks, Brad Childress!

Seahawks at Eagles
Giants at Bears
Bucs at Saints
Browns at Cardinals

Two Throwgasms

Bills at Redskins: Just this one time: Go Skins.

Chargers at Chiefs
Texans at Titans
Broncos at Raiders

One Throwgasm

Niners at Panthers
Jets at Dolphins
Falcons at Rams

Pregame Song That Makes Me Want To Run Through A Goddamn Brick Wall

"I Get Wet", by Andrew WK, who pulls triple duty as a rock star, a motivational speaker, and my personal online avatar. I love Andrew WK's first album, and I really enjoyed seeing him in concert at Irving Plaza in Manhattan. He dropped balloons on the crowd! He carried an audience member on his shoulders! (But not me. He's not stupid.) He grabbed a water bottle and did indeed get wet! Fuck yeah!

But even I have to accept that AWK's philosophical musings are a touch, uh, incoherent. I dare you to try and read this interview in its entirety. I started off thinking AWK was saying something important. It was only halfway in when I realized, "Wait, this guy is kinda retarded." Witness this passage:

What's my perception of others, what's my perception of myself? How had I been operating and how will I now operate with what I'd like to think is an increased awareness? Not just an awareness of what's going on around me, not just attempting to perceive more, but to perceive more about what I'm perceiving and to think about how I think.

In other words, AWK is unsure of his perception of his perception, but will attempt to perceive more about what he is perceiving and how he perceives how he is perceiving. Wait, what? I think he just broke his meta.

Stick to more basic themes, AWK. Let your music be your guide. I'll never stop loving "Take It Off"!

Embarassing Cassingle I Once Owned That Will Not Fire You Up

"Deeper Shade Of Soul," by Urban Dance Squad. The perfect hip-hop song to rap along to if you're a suburban white kid with an average flow of 4 beats per minute. They spit lyrics in this song about as fast as Christy Brown can write his full name. I half expect the song to just stop after 60 seconds.

Did I rap along to this song? HELL 2 DA YAW. I used this song to patent my white rapper head bobbing technique, the technique used by all white rappers across the globe, even the good ones. Want to learn it? Just follow these five steps:

1. Tilt your head to the right.
2. Bob your head three times.
3. Tilt you head to the left.
4. Bob your head three times.
5. Repeat ad infinitum.

If you want, go ahead and throw in the classic Ad Rock half-smirk anywhere in between. It really drives the douchiness home.

UDS was a group from Holland. This video is clearly meant to brand the group as a bunch of laid-back Californians. But judging by this photo, the group somehow veered wildly off course and ended up becoming some sort of hip hop version of the Village People. Ooh! Ooh! Dibs on the army guy! He's cute!

Bonus Cannibal Corpse Item!!!!!

We're now full bore into the holiday season. And, instead of Christmas music this year, why not fill your home with the dulcet tones of Buffalo's own Cannibal Corpse? I don't listen to Cannibal Corpse's music, but I have long admired them from afar, ever since first seeing them in Ace Ventura: Pet Detective. I strongly urge you to check out CC's discography, featuring some of the most poetic song titles in the history of music. You'll get such classics as:

• "Meat Hook Sodomy"
• "Hammer Smashed Face"
• "From Skin To Liquid"
• "Puncture Wound Massacre"
• "Mummified In Barbed Wire"
• "Orgasm Through Torture"
• "Necropedophile"
• "Nothing Left To Mutilate"

You'll also get such bonus tracks as "I Cum Blood"! Cumming blood? Sounds like someone's been hanging out with one groupie too many!

Fantasy Player That Deserves To Die A Slow, Painful Death

Cedric Benson. Well, well, well, Benson. It appears that you just had a season-ending injury to your leg. Wait, did I say leg? Because I think the real reason you can't play again this year is because of your ENORMOUS VAGINAL CANYON. Your vagina is so big, I could park Laurence Maroney's car in it. I could hold my company's holiday party in it. Hell, I could probably lead a geological survey into it and find fossils dating back to the Mesozoic era. You worthless fucking crybaby.

Five Potential Key Injuries

• Santonio Holmes (ankle)
• Cedric Benson (mile-wide gash)
• Mike Shanahan (special teams)
• Donovan McNabb (Philly crowd's affinity for inconsistent white quarterbacking over inconsistent black quarterbacking)
• Shawne Merriman (Puncture Wound FIESTA!)

This Week's Suicide Pick

Last week's suicide pool pick of Pittsburgh was correct. Off the board now are Pittsburgh, Indianapolis, New Orleans, San Diego, Cleveland, Washington, Chicago, Seattle, Denver, Dallas, Green Bay and New England (Record for the year: 8-4). We once again pick a both a suicide pool team and an actual way of committing suicide. This week's pick: Tennnessee, and lighting yourself on fire.

"Why that's a pretty blue!" If lighting yourself on fire makes you this goddamn funny, everyone should do it. An important lesson from Master Pryor here: "When you're on fire, and running down the street, people will get out of your way." If that's the case, we should definitely light Frank Gore on fire. It can only help his numbers.

Gametime Snack Of The Week

Mixed Nuts. I'm onto you, nut makers. For years, you nut people have "busted" out your canisters of mixed nuts thinking customers like me wouldn't notice that your salty, oily cartel has, for decades now, conspired to keep all mixed nut assortments at least 50 percent Brazil nuts. Well, I NOTICED. I noticed big time, dammit. I'm onto your ruse.

That fucking Brazil nut is nothing more than a big goddamn space-eater, thrown into the mix to keep you from having to give up your more precious nuts, such as the cashew or the almond. Well, no more! I'm calling you out on it! J'accuse! Nobody eats the Brazil nuts. Ever notice that no one sells jars of nothing BUT Brazil nuts? I did. Know why? 'Cause no one would buy that shit. Those big nuts are mealy and disgusting. They should be used to feed starving children, or to choke the dog with. Instead, I have to dig into the nut dish to make sure my handful is free of these Jupiter-sized albatrosses. Fucking annoying.

I'm also not wild about you, Mr. Hazelnut. Oh sure, dress you up in chocolate and you're a tempting mistress. But on your own, you don't have "it," baby. You're like Edgerrin James without the Indy o-line.

The next time you ladies head to a party, check the nut dish. If the host bought a mix free of Brazil nuts, then you know he ain't no cheapskate. Take him upstairs and give him the oral pleasure he's rightfully earned.

Gametime Cheap Beer Of The Week

Yuengling! Yuengling is America's oldest brewery. Which is funny, because for a solid five years or so, I could've sworn this beer was from Japan. Yuengling sounds like the name of a 13-year-old Kyoto concubine. "Come along now, Yuengling! Master needs you to stitch his trousers and make his tea! And to present him with your 'Dewey Orchid'!"

Sunday Afternoon Movie Of The Week For Dolphins Fans

Top Secret! I wish they all could be double barrel, wish they all could be double barrel gunnnnnnns...

Gratuitous Simpsons Quote

"Lisa, if the Bible has taught us nothing else - and it hasn't - it's that girls should stick to girls' sports, such as hot oil wrestling, foxy boxing and such and such."

Halftime Masturbation Kit
• For the guys: Fitness model Dana Hamm, whose last name should really be in the plural form.
• For the gals: Reader Smurphette submits this pic of a shirtless Jason Statham. "Too late! Too late!" will be the cry when the man with the bargains has passed you by!

Blatantly False, ProFootballTalk-Style, Fred Edelstein-esque Rumor Of The Week

WE HEAR... that I accidentally left this item out of last week's Jamboroo and no one gave a shit. Especially me.

Three Questions Sideline Reporters Should Ask But Won't
• "Tony Romo! Are you aware that you've clinched the league's smiling crown after just 12 weeks?"
• "Mister Wilbon! Care for some Pakistani beef jerky?"
• "Mister Bidwill, is there any truth to the rumor that all employee bonuses will be paid in Brazil nuts this year?"

Your Motivational Pregame Quote for The Weekend

"This is glue. Strong stuff."
-Elwood

Enjoy the games, everyone.

God dammit, I loves me some Thanksgiving. It's awesome. It's nothing like Pieces of April. That movie was gay. Thanksgiving combines four of my favorite activities: eating, drinking, watching television and sneaking a quick jerk in the shitter before dessert is served. It's a real solid day like that. I take great pains to plan my Thanksgivings for optimum enjoyment. But this year, I'm going one step further. That's right. I'm breaking this shit down, THROWGASM-STYLE. Dan V, bust out those special Thanksgiving graphics for that ass.

Aw, yeah. Let's analyze the games, AND the holiday. Tuck in your giblets, kids.

All games and Thanksgiving items in the Jamboroo are evaluated for sheer watchability and/or awesomeness on a scale of 1 to 5 Throwgasms.

Five Throwgasms

Stuffing: I saw a Food Network show once where Alton Brown said you should never cook your stuffing in the bird. Well, FUCK that pinko asshole. You put the stuffing in the bird for one reason. Because when you take the turkey out of the oven, there is a part of the stuffing, right at the opening of the bird's cavity, that has crusted over with five hours worth of melted turkey fat. That shit is fucking phenomenal. A true delicacy. I like to stand by and wait as my mom (or my mother-in-law, depending on whose turn it is to host) takes the bird out, specifically so I can pick away at that shit.

The Skin: Again, if you look right around the cavity of the bird, there's a thick flap of the skin that usually crisps up real good. It's like a turkey pork rind. I also eat that. The skin on top of the bird? Also delicious. I quite enjoy any form of salted fat. Why not? It's Thanksgiving. You can always slim down later on.

Dark Meat: I never understood why everyone picks white meat. You need to drown that shit in gravy to make it taste like anything. Dark meat rules. Hint: Go for the thigh meat tucked under the bird. The drumsticks always dry out and have a million little bones in them. Mmmm, dark thigh meat.

Hors' Douvres: Before the actual Thanksgiving dinner starts, I like to eat seven full meals worth of hors' douvres. It's a very light way to take in 8,500 calories. I'm a big fan of pate. It's like Wispride for rich assholes. Spreadable animal organs? Oh, yeah. That's all me, baby.

White Trash Church Basement Green Bean/Onion Ring Casserole: Oh, Mr. Durkee. You make one fine canned onion ring, good sir. I will not eat green beans in any other form. What's the fucking point of plain green beans? Haricots verts? More like Haricots ASS. Green beans are served at Thanksgiving so that you can have a vegetable with your meal. Well, fuck that. It's Thanksgiving, so I should not have to be a slave to proper nutrition. That's why I say douse that shit with cream of mushroom soup, throw some fried onions on top and go to town. I like my Thanksgiving meal to be presented strictly in varying shades of brown and off-white.

Gravy: They need to create some sort of emergency gravy dispenser in all houses. I could put gravy on cereal and it would improve it. Ever dip your fries in gravy? I'm 260 lbs for a reason, you know.

Post-Meal Nap: When you wake up from the post-meal nap, you will invariably feel as if you are waking up the following morning. It completely fucks up your internal clock.

Mashed Potatoes: Fact: Every vegetable on Earth is delicious if it is pureed and then mixed with cream, salt and a stick of butter. Broccoli is nasty. But broccoli soufflé? Delightful. Lots of people also enjoy mashed sweet potatoes with marshmallows thrown on top. Can't argue with that.

After-Dinner Port/Bourbon/Cigarette/Joint: Any addictive substance will do here. Half a bottle of Beam after a big meal makes me feel all warm and jolly. It's a nice time to share as a family. I also like the fact that all post-Thanksgiving conversation revolves around how much you just ate. "Holy shit, Dad. That was GOOD. Christ, I am full. I can't believe we had pie and THEN fudge!"

Anything Ala Mode: I don't give a fuck what pie you choose. You better put some ice cream on that bitch. And whatever pie you get needs to be hot enough to make the ice cream melt on top of it. Ice cream and cold pie is nothing more than unfulfilled potential.

Packers at Lions I have two fantasy players playing in this game. Any Thanksgiving Day game is vastly improved if you have fantasy players playing in them. One of the Thanksgiving games is usually a shit one that's over by the half (that's you, Lions!), so having fantasy players involved is vital to keep from having to interact with your family.

Not Having To Travel
Pumpkin Pie
Post-Meal Dump
Apple Pie

Four Throwgasms

Leftovers: I love me some leftovers, but I always run into one significant problem. There is always, without fail, never enough of ONE particular leftover to make that Friday dinner complete. If we aren't outta stuffing, then we're outta mashed potatoes, or gravy, or turkey, or something else. Drives me fucking insane. That's why, this year, I'm making 50 lbs. of every item. Better safe than mildly annoyed.

Pecan Pie: I like the brown, gooey shit in the pecan pie. What is it? I'm not sure. And I'm not sure I really want to know.

Going To The Movies: A lot of people go to the movies on Thanksgiving, especially if they eat an early dinner. A good rule of thumb for going to the movies on Thanksgiving is to go to the dumbest movie possible. You just ate enough food to feed 27 African orphans for a year. Do you really want to go see Darfur Now? Two tickets to Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium for you!

Walking The Dog After Dinner: Sometimes, a good ol' family walk after dinner helps ease all that food down into your small intestine. Walking those two whole blocks is also an excellent excuse to bust out the oatmeal raisin cookies when you get back home.

Bills at Jaguars
Redskins at Bucs

Three Throwgasms

Relatives: Everyone has that one relative they can't stand. In my family, that relative is me. So I've got it pretty good.

White Meat: Whatever.

The Wishbone: Ever try and pull the wishbone before it's been properly dried out? You'll tear your fucking labrum trying to get the right angle on that thing. To get an edge, I always try to choke up on the bone. Wait, that came out wrong.

Cranberry Sauce: Nothing stirs up old memories like seeing that cranberry sauce that holds the exact shape of the can it came in. I usually eat the cranberry sauce by itself, after I'm done eating everything else on the plate. Basically, I treat it as a sort of pre-dessert. I pretty sure I'm doing it all wrong.

Titans at Bengals: The Bengals are terrible, but they sure are entertainingly terrible.

Jets at Cowboys
Ravens at Chargers
Texans at Browns

Two Throwgasms

Halftime: When it's halftime during a Thanksgiving game, there aren't any other games to flip around to. That means sitting there and watching Bradshaw fuck up the halftime highlights like he always does. Guy's been doing this shit for two decades now. "All right, Tony Ro... Tony Romo! Throwing to uh... Patrick Crayton, that's a touchdown, 7 to nothing, uh... Dallas!" Jesus. What an idiot. He's the white Shannon Sharpe.

Shit On TV That Isn't Football: If the game you're watching sucks, TV programmers have no decent counter programming to help your ass out. Oh, look! "She Spies"! Awesome!

Eating Dinner At Noon: What is this, Spain? If you eat dinner at noon, the rest of your day is one, long groggy headache. Of course, the downside of not eating early is...

Trying To Fall Asleep If You Were Dumb Enough To Nap At 6 O'Clock

Raiders at Chiefs: I figured it out last week: Daunte Culpepper is the black Rex Grossman. Throws a beautiful 50-yard spiral. Can't field a snap to save his goddamn life.

Colts at Falcons: This is the Thursday night game. Don't have NFL Network? I'm quite sure you'll live. Bryant Gumbel just finished re-reading "Football For Dummies," so he should be well-prepared.

Eagles at Patriots: Peter King ran this quote from CBS Sports prez Sean McManus on Monday:

"The intent of the flex schedule was to make sure that, in the second half of the season, the primetime network package didn't get stuck with a bad game. It was never intended to cherry-pick the best game on Sunday and move it to prime time ... I think the Patriots versus Cornell would probably be a game [NBC] would put in prime time right now."

Actually Sean, that is EXACTLY what flex scheduling was meant to do. Idiot. Secondly, Patriots-Cornell would be a WAY better matchup than this one.

Dolphins at Steelers
Broncos at Bears
Seahawks at Rams:
Saints at Panthers
Vikings at Giants

One Throwgasm

The Parade: You know what the Macy's parade is? It's the fucking Tony Awards, tossed outside. Oooh, look everyone! It's Ann Curry, Rascal Flatts and the cast of Broadway's "Legally Blonde"! All together in one place! Thank you, Santa!

The Fucking Dishes: "Why do I have to do them? I did them last fucking year! Tracy never has to do them! Oh, that is such bullshit! You know what? I'll rinse and then YOU can do the big pots and pans. That's fair. What do you mean, you helped cook? You just fucking stood there and watched Mom cook, God dammit! What do you mean, the knives aren't dishwasher safe? Then BUY SOME FUCKING DISHWASHER SAFE KNIVES! What do you mean, I have to dry everything? Jesus Christ, let it dry on its own! I fucking hate Thanksgiving."

NOTE: If you get stuck with the dishes at Thanksgiving, always be sure to declare that 2 or 3 of the big pots "need to soak." Your mom will end up washing them later on. Unless your mom is estranged or, you know, dead.

Sitting Around Waiting To Watch Football: We eat around 5 or so. All I can think about when I wake up (and after I've masturbated) is eating dinner. I need football to get me through that afternoon. This is why I help cook.

Shopping On Friday: I know it's a tradition in a lot of families to get up crazy early on Black Friday and hit the stores. I salute you people. Without you, local TV crews wouldn't have any footage for their annual "Retailers are gearing up for the holiday shopping season!" filler stories. But seriously, shopping on that day is fucking insane.

Having To Travel
Niners at Cardinals

Pregame Song That Makes Me Want To Run Through A Goddamn Brick Wall

"10AM Automatic", by The Black Keys. The Black Keys prove that at least one good thing can indeed come out of Ohio. What a surprise that that one good thing would happen to be a blues band. Growing up in Akron has given Dan Auerbach a whole fucking lot of material to work with. He should be made an honorary black man.

Embarassing Cassingle I Once Owned That Will Not Fire You Up

"The Deeper The Love," by Whitesnake. Holy shitballs, Tawny! That's some bigass hair you got! Also, you should note while watching this video that Tawny Kitaen humping a piano < Tawny Kitaen humping a white convertible. This video is the missing link between "Here I Go Again" Tawny and "Assault Chuck Finley With A Fuck-Me Pump" Tawny. She's well down the cocaine spiral at this juncture. Not a good look.

I remember when Steve Vai joined Whitesnake and everyone (and by "everyone," I mean me and only me) thought, "Wow, now they'll REALLY rock!" Wrong. Very incorrect. Not only did Whitesnake produce this song, they also produced "Now You're Gone," a song that blatantly ripped off The Four Tops' "Same Old Song." I always found that fact ironic, given the title of the latter. Stop ripping off old Motown hits, Coverdale! Go back to ripping off Led Zeppelin! If it ain't "Still Of The Night," I don't wanna fucking hear it.

Fantasy Player That Deserves To Die A Slow, Painful Death

TJ Houshmandzadeh. The fucking Brandon Jacobs to Chad Johnson's Tiki Barber. Quit bogarting all the touchdowns, you pony-tailed fuckface! I'm tired of your excellent hands, team-first attitude and precise route-running! I drafted Ocho Cinco high because he was flashy, and I'm an idiot, and I want my payoff!

Five Potential Key Injuries
&#8226; Marshawn Lynch (knee)
&#8226; Brandon Jacobs (justice)
&#8226; Marvin Harrison (dolphin hostage situation)
&#8226; Peyton Manning (overcompensating)
&#8226; Tamba Hali (English)

This Week's Suicide Pick

Last week's suicide pool pick of Indianapolis was correct. Off the board now are Indy, New Orleans, San Diego, Cleveland, Washington, Chicago, Seattle, Denver, Dallas, Green Bay and New England (Record for the year: 7-4). We once again pick a both a suicide pool team and an actual way of committing suicide. This week's pick: Pittsburgh, and hanging yourself. I suggest using a satin sheet. Why not choke to death in luxury?

Gametime Snack Of The Week

Sun Chips. The perfect snack if you want something that you can convince yourself is good for you but is, in fact, just as bad for you as any other junk food, if not worse. I suggest the Harvest Cheddar flavor. Yes, the Frito Lay corporation knows how to harvest cheese better than anyone else. They pick the cheese fresh from the cheese tree!

Gametime Cheap Beer Of The Week

Carling Black Label! The black tie of cheap beers. Nothing says "classy affair" like Black Label. Just look at this guy. He's ready to play paddle tennis and/or fellate you.

Sunday Afternoon Movie Of The Week For Dolphins Fans

Under Siege. My favorite Steven Seagal movie. All Seagal movies feature titles that are descriptive clauses of Seagal. Steven Seagal is... Marked For Death! Steven Seagal is... Above the Law! There's a lot of great shit in Under Siege, but two things stand out. One is Erika Eleniak jumping out of the giant cake in a Navy blazer and whipping out her juggs. (NSFW) That was just beyond awesome (runs to go masturbate). The other was Seagal stabbing Tommy Lee Jones directly in the top of the head. Can't beat that.

Gratuitous Simpsons Quote

"And with their flaming swords, the Aromites did pierce the eyes of their fellow men, and did feast on what flowed forth."

Halftime Masturbation Kit
&#8226; For the guys: The Nicolette Scorsese scene from Christmas Vacation. I can't find the scene where Clark envisions her by the pool. But I remember it. I really, really, remember it. Also missing here is the "Can't see the line, can ya, Russ?" line. So, to make it up to you, here's the same actress naked. (NSFW).
&#8226; For the gals: Male model Evandro. Muy caliente!

Three Questions Sideline Reporters Should Ask But Won't
&#8226; "Tom, can I ask you a question after Andrea has taken her finger out of your asshole?"
&#8226; "Wow, Brett! You won the FOX Thanksgiving Day MVP award. What were the fucking odds of that?"
&#8226; "John Beck! Where's your goofy Mormon God now? Huh?"

Your Motivational Pregame Quote for The Weekend

"I don't give a fuck, Riggs. That's why I don't have an ulcer. Because I know when to say I don't give a fuck."
-Captain Murphy

Happy Thanksgiving to all of you. Hope you all have a great time with family and friends. And, if you're traveling, I hope your trip is as painless as humanly possible. Enjoy the food and games, everyone.

Larry Allen plays for the 49ers these days. And even though he's on the downside of his career, toiling away for an absolutely putrid team, Allen still holds the title of the NFL's strongest man. And this isn't some anecdotal bullshit. He won the NFL's Strongest Man competition at the Pro Bowl last year by benching 225 lbs. 43 times. In other words, it was a good toning exercise for him.

Allen has benched 700 pounds before, and he has a partial squat of 900 lbs. What's a partial squat? That's when your wrap up your knees up real tight, lay the bar across your shoulders and begin to squat down only to realize you're squatting 900 fucking pounds. It's not a full squat. But who gives a shit? It's still a pretty spectacular achievement — one that, frankly, I am not able to comprehend with my tiny little brain.

Sometimes we forget just how fucking physically awesome some of these guys are. I remember when being able to bench 135 lbs. in high school was a big deal. As you probably know, a barbell with 135 lbs. is one that has a 45 lb. plate (the biggest plate) on each side. As a guy, you HAVE to be able to do this, because when you're bench-pressing with just a 35 lb. plate or, God forbid, a 25 lb. plate on either side of the barbell, you look like a goddamn pussy. You feel like a goddamn pussy. And you ARE a goddamn pussy. Worst of all, you have to spend weeks and weeks looking like said pussy if you want to be able to the bench the weight that makes you look like a semi-functional male human being that can kill bugs and have sex with other people.

That's why we men tend to gravitate towards the weightlifting exercises that allow us to use the most weight. I know it's better for you to use less weight and go for more reps. But fuck that. The whole point of lifting weights is to LOOK strong. And you can't do that by doing 20 lbs. eighty times on the preacher curl. That's gay. That's why I'm a big fan of shrugs. You just load that barbell up with a shitload of plates, pick it up (off the rack!), lift your shoulders two inches, and then put it back down again. One set, of one. Easy AND impressive. That's working out with your head!

I'm also a big fan of the leg press. You, of course, remember our good friend Pat Robertson, who claimed he could leg press over 2,000 pounds. Well, of course Pat can leg press 2,000 pounds. EVERYONE can. I think the sled on the leg press machine is motorized, for God's sake. Load it up, extend your legs, bend them to 172 degrees (don't forget to let out an accidental fart!) and repeat. That is some strong-looking activity right there.

That's what makes players like Larry Allen so incredible. He's not just bullshit strong like you or me (mostly me). He's strong at the legitimately challenging shit: bench, squat, clean, dead lift, scrotum hang, etc. You know how you or I need a baby to be trapped under a car before we can produce the adrenaline rush needed to lift that car over our heads? Allen doesn't need that baby. He's doesn't need SHIT. He can just pick it up, twirl it around on his finger, then yell out "Grape Ape!" and have everyone cheer.

Allen, as I noted, can bench 700 pounds. That's seven plates on each side, plus a little extra. I'm not sure the bar even goes that wide. He maxed that shit out. When he gets inducted into the Hall of Fame in a few years, he can simply shape the bust with his hands. Even in his twilight, the man is a beast. And there are some in the league who are, if not his equal, pretty damn close.

So here's to you, Larry Allen. You're not as strong as an ox. You make an ox look like Kevin fucking Durant.

The Games

It's the end of the bye weeks, so we should be in for a real treat as every team once again takes the... wait a second. These games SUCK! Damn you, lack of quality coaches and consistent quarterbacking!

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

Five Throwgasms

Redskins at Cowboys: Dan Snyder could go 2-14 every year and be happy about it so long as both those wins were against the Cowboys. Someone needs to alert Lil' Mussolini that this isn't college fucking football. They all count the same, shrimp-boy. Have fun losing by 20. Asshat.

Four Throwgasms

Giants at Lions: Each week, I grade these games on a curve. You can obviously tell from this matchup.

Patriots at Bills: This is the Sunday night flex game. NBC chose this one. You're gonna be seeing a lot of the Patriots at night from now on, considering NBC would be willing to settle for this 30-point shitfest.

Three Throwgasms

Bears at Seahawks: Rex! Big throws! Boners! Interceptions! Fucking! Fumbled center exchanges! Rubber corsets!

Chiefs at Colts
Chargers at Jaguars

Two Throwgasms

Panthers at Packers
Saints at Texans
Titans at Broncos

One Throwgasm

Raiders at Vikings: And... my favorite team just became unwatchable. Fuck me in the ass with a yardstick.

Dolphins at Eagles
Bucs at Falcons
Browns at Ravens
Cardinals at Bengals
Steelers at Jets
Rams at Niners

Pregame Song That Makes Me Want To Run Through A Goddamn Brick Wall

"Just You Wait", by The Paybacks. The Paybacks are fronted by Wendy Case. Ever wonder what Iggy Pop would look like with no penis and a less stringy physique? Here you go. Wendy ain't the cutest lady rock star in the world (that would be Brett Anderson of The Donnas. Grrr!). She makes Chrissy Hynde look downright feminine. But Case sure knows how to rock with her proverbial cock out.

I'm tired of the women's rock movement being represented solely by Melissa Etheridge, Sheryl Crow and Vixen. There need to be more women rock stars who are willing to debase themselves just as much as men, to the point where they are damn near indistinguishable. Wendy Case can do that. And, even though she's 80 lbs, she could clearly kick my ass in 10 seconds or less. I respect that. Brodie Dalle can only do it in under 20.

Embarrassing Cassingle I Once Owned That Will Not Fire You Up

"Forever," by Kiss. Back in late 80's and early 90's, Kiss decided to take a break from being the world's most overrated band, and decided to concentrate on merely being the world's shittiest one. But man, did I love this song.

When I was in eighth grade, there was a girl I liked. And by "liked," I mean, "stalked for three years." I used to listen to this song on my Walkman, along with various other power ballads, and daydream about the various scenarios in which we would end up together. Being the only two survivors in a nuclear holocaust was a good one. Saving her from being raped was also big. I also liked to fantasize about foiling a terrorist plot to take over the school, ala "Toy Soldiers," and receiving sex from her as gratitude. Those were all solid fantasies. I had issues.

At my middle school in Minnesota, the big thing was asking someone to "go" with you. As in, "Oh, Steve and Stacy are going." I must have asked this girl to go with me 17 times. And every time, she said no. But she always did it in such a nice way that I ended up liking her all the more for it, and trying again and again. So a note to you seventh grade ladies on rejecting an unwanted would-be "goer" at your school: Just be a real bitch about it. Otherwise, you'll never shake that jackass for good. Don't drag that shit out.

As for me, I'm totally over that chick. All my surveillance equipment is now used to track Christina Ricci's daily activities. She strikes me as a far easier mark.

Fantasy Player That Deserves To Die A Slow, Painful Death

Shaun Alexander. Fuck you, Shaun Alexander. I think it's pretty much a hard and fast fantasy rule now: Any running back that signs a big contract extension should dropped five rounds on everyone's draft board. Shaun Alexander, you are the poster boy for getting a lucrative extension, only to immediately turn around and drop right into the shitter. You suck. I hope a crazed fan in Seattle uses the "angler" attachment on his Swiss Army knife to scrape your insides out, you underachieving bastard. You were supposed to have a resurgence this year, you prick. Why aren't you resurging? Follow the script, God dammit.

Five Potential Key Injuries
&#8226; Adrian Peterson (knee)
&#8226; Al Harris (my unending rage)
&#8226; Rex Grossman (prolonged engorgement)
&#8226; Matt Hasselbeck (Steve Rushin Lookalike Syndrome)
&#8226; Peyton Manning (Antonio Cromartie)

This Week's Suicide Pick

Last week's suicide pool pick of New Orleans was incorrect. That brings my record for the year to 6-4. Just barely above .500. Mind you, this is without point spreads, and cherry-picking the supposedly easiest matchups. In other words, I really, really suck at this. Are you in a suicide pool at work? Stop. You may as well shred your money and make a friendship bracelet out of it. Hitting the number on a goddamn roulette wheel has better odds. You know who won this every year at my old office? The fuckface senior VP who had enough cash to buy 50 percent of the entries every year, then took in a modest profit. Seriously, what a douche.

Off the board now are New Orleans, San Diego, Cleveland, Washington, Chicago, Seattle, Denver, Dallas, Green Bay and New England (Record for the year: 6-4). We once again pick a both a suicide pool team and an actual way of committing suicide. This week's pick: Indianapolis, and jumping off a ten-story building only to be killed by an unrelated shotgun blast coming from the ninth floor window. This is the fabled Ronald Opus suicide, a story that was fabricated by a man named Don Mills, then eventually believed as true by many. The Opus suicide story was one of the inspirations behind Magnolia, a movie made me want to jump off a ten-story building. How's that for irony?

Fucking hated that movie.

Gametime Snack Of The Week

The Snyder's Of Hanover Hard Pretzel. Boy, I sure am hungry. I could really go for something bland! Something that tastes stale! Petrified, even! Something with big salt crystals that can split my bicuspids right in half if I bite down wrong! Mmmmm! Delicious!

Pretzels are the snack food you eat if there's nothing else around. They're the Wednesday night MAC college football game of snack foods. Yeah. They're salty. Great. But other snack foods are just as chock full of deadly sodium, while offering some other flavor as well, like Cool Ranch. Or Sour Cream & Onion. Or just something fucking else. And don't give me those cheddar cheese pretzel nub things as a counterargument. Those things are bullshit. That's just a pretzel trying to be a Pringle. Okay? I see past the ruse. I also resent the fact that pretzel-makers keep trying to trick me into giving pretzels another shot by constantly selling them in new shapes: twists, nubs, rods, sticks, braids, tic-tac-toe boards, Lady Madonna, etc. It's the same goddamn snack, Mr. Snyder of Hanover. The shape does not change its inherent pretzelness. Give it a rest. Man cannot live on texture alone.

The number one reason people eat pretzels is because they are so salty, they make you drink more ("These pretzels are making me thirsty!"). In other words, pretzels are less a food and more a drinking facilitator. They're just like Billy Martin. Now, I'm all in support of that. But I can get the same effect from nuts, or chips, or sesame sticks. And I can get the added benefit of actual flavor. So clean up your act, pretzel. Start figuring out how to taste more like a Cheeto.

(NOTE: This rant does not apply to soft pretzels, especially the Glazin' Raisin pretzel at Auntie Anne's, which is delightful. It's like a Cinnabon. Only it's a pretzel, so it's good for you. Or so I would assume.)

Gametime Cheap Beer Of The Week

Coors Light, the beer that has set beer advertising back about seven decades. This fucking company's shitty ads have littered the American landscape for far too long. Those fucking beer man ads. Those fucking ads for Original Coors with Dan Patrick talking about John Elway while sitting on a porch at some goddamn winter lodge. That one ad with Dr. Dre sitting on an airplane doing...???

That goddamn twins song. Those ads with Pete "Der Fuhrer" Coors walking through the woods like he was a fucking game warden or something. Those ads where everyone at the pool hall busts into an impromptu rendition of "Rocky Mountain High". Those fucking "Tap the Rockies" ads where people are playing beach volleyball while superimposed on a mountain range. Those stupid fucking ads they run now that re-use old press conference clips and make no goddamn sense at all. For years now, I've had sit through game after game featuring this retarded company's misguided attempts to brand itself over and over again.

It's a beer ad. It's not fucking hard. Start with a monkey. Then show some tits. Then make a dick joke. Then cut to product. See? Gold. Yet these guys constantly fuck it up. Coors Light's motto is "The coldest beer in the world!" Do they understand the logic flaw in that selling point? Oooh, it's so cold, we can only measure it in Kelvin! Morons. You know what the coldest beer in the world is? ANY OF THEM. I had a Coors Light once that had been sitting in the car for an hour in late August. It was anything but cold.

So fuck you, Pete Coors. Fuck your advertising, and fuck your cheap, shitty beer. Fuck.

Sunday Afternoon Movie Of The Week For Dolphins Fans

The Apostle. That Robert Duvall was a man of vision. He brains a guy with a baseball bat at a Little League game in this flick, a solid couple years before that type of thing became standard practice among all American parents. I could have done without the kissing scene between Duvall and Miranda Richardson. (It looks like Duvall is trying to eat Richardson's tongue. You can actually see her trying to erase her own memory as the kiss goes on.) But otherwise, this movie kicks ass. Duvall was robbed of an Oscar here. Know who beat him for Best Actor in '97? Jack Nicholson for "As Good As It Gets". That movie sucked. It's real challenge for Jack Nicholson to play Jack Nicholson. Bullshit.

The Apostle is notable for offering a much more sympathetic portrayal of religious folks in the rural South than your standard Hollywood film. That was my only problem with the flick, because religious folks in the rural South are out of their fucking minds.

Gratuitous Simpsons Quote
"Once the government approves of something, it's no longer immoral!"

Halftime Masturbation Kit
&#8226; For the guys: "Heroes" star Kristen Bell. Quit toying with Peter Petrelli, you whore!
&#8226; For the gals: a shirtless Brad Pitt. Careful, ladies. He'll flake out on you one day too.

Blatantly False, ProFootballTalk-Style, Fred Edelstein-esque Rumor Of The Week
WE HEAR... that Joe Gibbs calls plays for the Redskins first by consulting Al Saunders, then consulting Joe Bugel, then consulting Dan Snyder, then consulting a rosary, then consulting the referee, then consulting his dog Jimbo, then consulting strangers in the crowd after burning a timeout.

Three Questions Sideline Reporters Should Ask But Won't
&#8226; "Larry, did you know Drew can shrug upwards of 200 lbs.?"
&#8226; "Hey Eli, care for a pretzel?"
&#8226; "Coach Belichick, did you enjoy your week off slaughtering children in Sierra Leone?"

Your Motivational Pregame Quote for The Weekend
"I promise you a day of reckoning that you won't live long enough to never forget."
-Joe Sarno

Enjoy the games, everyone.

PROGRAMMING NOTE: Next week's Jamboroo will run on Wednesday on account of Thanksgiving. Change your life accordingly.

It's a jam-packed Jameson-fueled Jamboroo this week, so I'm not wasting any fucking time. I've got puds to pull and douchebag quarterbacks to insult from the safety of my home like the gutless coward that I am. This week's installment also features 40% more gratuitous profanity, which I'm really fucking jazzed about. So let's dive right into the games, shall we?

The Games

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

Five Throwgasms

Colts at Chargers: I watched the Chargers play last week, and I think there's a highly underreported story going on in the NFL this year. And that is that Philip Rivers is a douchebag. Big douchebag. HUGE douchebag. He's the kind of fuckhead that wears Nantucket reds to a cocktail party and then pinches your sister's tits. He's the kind of shit-eating cockgobbler that throws Bacardi Silver peepee parties with JJ Redick. He's the kind of guy who ends up working at an investment bank and spending his weekends beating his girlfriend as she tries to put herself through graduate school. I know the type. I live in Washington, okay? There are loads of these douches here, overcrowding the bars, rocking visors and running the Federal government.

Rivers is the kind of douchebag that, quite literally, stomps his feet when things don't go his way during the game. As Ufford once said, "He looks like the kind of asshole who treats waitresses like shit, then stiffs them." We should make this prick an honorary lacrosse player. Norv gets his fair share of blame for what's going on in San Diego. But Rivers deserves equal ire. IRE, I say! You're ruining LT with your inaccuracy and your cattiness, Rivers! And I'm calling you out!

In fact, I'm gonna give Rivers a new nickname. Rivers, from now on, your name is fucking Marmalard. Don't like it? Well, go cry to the officials about it. It's all you do anyway. Fucking Marmalard. Maybe you and Jimmy Clausen can go bowling sometime.

Cowboys at Giants: Say, isn't this just about the time of year when the Giants suddenly give up on Tom Coughlin? (checks watch) I believe it is. Tank Johnson is back for this game. Michael Strahan has already scheduled a special "Arsenal Consult" with Tank once the game is over. Jean Strahan won the battle, but I tell you, she's not winning the war. I'd let the butler start the car for you from now on, sweetheart.

Browns at Steelers: After having their fun with two teams from the Mountain NFC West, the Browns get a second chance to prove themselves against a Steelers team that curb-stomped them 34-7 to start the year. Ah, but that was before the emergence of Derek "Horse Balls" Anderson! HB isn't scared of you and your brawny, virile coach, Steelers. He had the toes on his left foot sheared off in a Flexible Flyer accident at age 5. Motherfucker didn't even blink. You think that 3-4 defense scares him?

Four Throwgasms

Vikings at Packers: I've heard a lot of commentators (looking your way, JC Pearson) refer to Adrian Peterson as a good "downhill runner." Football analysts have a lot of idiotic expressions, but "downhill runner" has to be near the top. Last I checked, an NFL football field is flat. It is not on a fucking incline. Perhaps one day, moguls will be introduced to the red zone. Then you can boast of Purple Jesus' ability to run down a goddamn slope. But until that kind of topological diversity is introduced to the league (the asshole who thought up the London game adores the idea), there's no such thing as a downhill runner. If you want to say he's so fast he appears to be running downhill, say that. And if you want to say that Shaun Alexander is so slow he appears to be running uphill, go right ahead. Both statements are accurate.

In other Purple Jesus news, I strongly recommend you read Ufford's piece at FreeDarko on the man (now with 50 percent more flowery metaphors!), and purchase yourself a PJ t-shirt from 289.

And lest I get too homerific here, a quick note on the Packers. One of the reasons Brett Favre has been so good this year is that he has his best complement of receivers since 2004, which was Javon Walker's last good year with the team. Greg Jennings does a pretty nice job outrunning people. Surely he should get in on a little bit of the media knobslobbing. He shouldn't have to jerk off in the corner while Peter King works his magic on Favre's "Mississippi Rebel." Share the love, people.

Three Throwgasms

Eagles at Redskins: Uh, shouldn't Andy Reid have quit by now? Oh, your kids were busted running drugs right out of your home, Andy? Well, I'm sure you can find some free time during your 100-hour workweek to set them right. Shouldn't be any trouble at all. Holy Jesus.

One thing Reid could do is fine and suspend his sons for conduct detrimental to the family. Then he could release them at the end of the year. The Dallas metropolitan area has had a real shortage at Crackhead ever since Michael Irvin left, and they're willing to pay top dollar.

Jaguars at Titans: Last week's 1 p.m. games felt extra late because of Daylight Savings Time. I find it interesting that Congress has the power and ability to manipulate time itself, yet they can't pass a simple budget bill without fucking it up.

Two Throwgasms

Broncos at Chiefs: A friend of mine who is a Bronco fan would like to point out that the Broncos were 41-17 with Jake Plummer and are 5-8 since his departure. Ah, but my friend fails to realize that those 17 losses with Jake at the helm were just fucking excruciating, with late fumbles and picks and God knows what else Jake had planned for the afternoon. Losing 44-7 to the Lions with Patrick Ramsey at the helm isn't fun, but at least it's over quickly and painlessly.

Bengals at Ravens: Hey, everyone! Chris Henry is back! I heard that Odell Thurman is giving Henry a ride to the stadium Sunday, and that he stocked his '76 Continental with lots of paper towels and Pine Sol. Smart move, Odell.

Lions at Cardinals: Shaun Rogers is still on supplemental oxygen.

Bills at Dolphins
Rams at Saints
Bears at Raiders

One Throwgasm

Falcons at Panthers: Horrid fucking game. Why not focus on the advertising instead? Who doesn't like watching a group of suburban moms ordering a hit on a fictional character for making a double bacon melt no sane mother in the world would serve to her children? Or how about a children's choir dusting off an old Poison gem for Xbox? Fact: putting a children's choir in a rock song makes me 378 times more likely to commit arson.

Niners at Seahawks

Pregame Song That Makes Me Want To Run Through A Goddamn Brick Wall

"Fake Healer", by Metal Church. Thrash metal bands in the 80's raged about a lot of things: parents, the government, cops who bust you for going over 55, being a soldier who's had a landmine rob him of his speech, hearing, sight and limbs. But few bands were ever able to craft a good metal song around the fact that doctors are complete pricks. Well, Metal Church covered that shit and then some. You don't see many lead singers rock a tattered denim vest anymore, and we are all the poorer for it.

I saw "Knocked Up" a few weeks back, and all the hospital shit it in it is accurate, save for one thing. You know that scene where Seth Rogen pulls the asshole doctor aside in the hospital and convinces him to NOT be a dick? I call bullshit on you, Judd Apatow. That doctor would have blown Rogen off like a bouncer blowing me off at Marquee. Doctors are assholes. You can't un-asshole them. It's part of the Hippocratic Oath. It's right there in the text: "Do no harm, and be sure to treat your patient like he's a total fucking nuisance."

One last bitch about doctors. Whenever I call a doctor's office now, it always goes directly to voicemail. And that voicemail always takes five fucking minutes to get to the part where they tell you which button to push if I want to schedule an appointment. And it's usually 4, or some other number besides 1 or #, so I can't guess correctly and push it in order to bypass the voicemail. They totally do that shit on purpose. Fuckface asshole shitboxes.

Embarassing Cassingle I Once Owned That Will Not Fire You Up

"I Touch Myself," by Divinyls. You can't understate the importance of this song to lonely young teenage masturbators such as myself back then. I was insecure and desperate for acceptance. Then this song came along, and it took real load off my psyche. "Oh, you mean other people do it? Oh, thank God! Maybe if I masturbate enough, I'll be cool!" I'm also happy the band produced a video that allows you to masturbate to the song. It really makes everything come full circle.

Fantasy Player That Deserves To Die A Slow, Painful Death

Frank Gore. Fuck you, Frank Gore. You were drafted in the Top 5 in most leagues, assfuck. That means you are expected to fucking PRODUCE. And so far, the only thing your injured ass has produced is an overwhelming desire for fantasy owners to hunt you down tear out your gall bladder with a goddamn meathook. What happened to you, man? You were a chic pick. Chic, dammit! Now you are passé. That's right. Passé! If there's a more damning thing to call a football player, I don't know what that would be. Fucking anklegrabber.

Five Potential Key Injuries
&#8226; Larry Johnson (ankle)
&#8226; Travis Henry (pussyholism)
&#8226; Tom Brady (bad Opie and Anthony joke)
&#8226; Mike Holmgren (lobotomy)
&#8226; Ben Roethlisberger (Down's Syndrome relapse)

This Week's Suicide Pick

Last week's suicide pool pick of San Diego was incorrect. Uh, sorry about that. Off the board now are San Diego, Cleveland, Washington, Chicago, Seattle, Denver, Dallas, Green Bay and New England (Record for the year: 6-3). We once again pick a both a suicide pool team and an actual way of committing suicide. This week's pick: New Orleans, and Bunny Suicides!. Each one more inventive than the last! Here's my favorite. It's got a real Australio-Japanese feel to it:

I never realized bunnies were such a hopeless lot. They fuck and shit all day. Sounds like a little slice of heaven to me.

Gametime Snack Of The Week

Goldfish. Why buy Cheez-Its when you get them in seafood form? Goldfish are disturbingly edible. I could eat about 7,800 goldfish in five minutes and not even realize what I've done. I like seeing how many I can fit into one handful, then cramming them all into my big fat piehole at once. It's real hit at cocktail parties. I also like to pretend the goldfish are begging for their lives before I mercilessly chomp them into little tiny bits. Again, it's a real crowd-pleaser.

Goldfish also make a fine college snack. As you college folk know, there's nothing more exciting then going to the grocery store with your mom before the semester begins, loading up with every fucking snack item you can find in the place and then sticking her with the tab. I threw everything in the cart: Goldfish, chips, soda, beer, applesauce, raw ground chuck. I cleaned that woman out twice a year. By the end of the first week up at school, that shit was all gone. Guaranteed. One time my roommate came back with a giant milk carton pack of Goldfish. It was gone in two days. I turned orange.

If you're in college, you also know that this is not the only goldfish you might be eating. Who's up for a Doghead?! Huh? Anyone?

When you go to school in Bumblefuck, Maine, you make your own entertainment! They're wiggly in my tummy!

Gametime Cheap Beer Of The Week

BEAST! Ah, yes. Milwaukee's Best. The cheapest beer in the whole land. Beast comes in three varieties: Beast, Beast Ice and Beast Light. Why is there a Beast Light? Your guess is as good as mine. A fourth variety of Beast, Beast Urinal, is due in 2009. I remember getting quarter barrels of Beast in college because getting quarter barrels of Budweiser was just too darn pricey. You know you've got one shitty beer when Budweiser seems fancy and unattainable by comparison. Fact: Beast goes flat within two minutes of popping the can. It's also the only beer in the world that tastes the exact same with or without a cigarette butt floating around in it.

I'm an avid fan of sleazy beer posters like the one above. I enjoy the unapologetic sluttiness of them. Oh no! This greased-up lass can't fix her muscle car because she's a girl! And she's drunk! Will YOU help her, good sir? Perhaps, as your reward, she will share her frosty Beast Light with you and show you the backseat of her Correte! That Correte is one hot car!

Sunday Afternoon Movie Of The Week For Dolphins Fans

Tombstone. Fuck and yes. A lot of modern Westerns, like that one new Brad Pitt movie, like to turn the genre on its head, stripping away traditional Western myths and deeply probing the real psychological ramifications of gun violence in early America. Well, FUCK THOSE MOVIES. Tombstone's all about hopping on a horse and going to fuck some shit up, and that is A-OK with me, man. Plus it's got Jason Priestly rocking a fake beard (looking good, Jason!), Powers Boothe rocking a real mustache (I wish my name was Powers. Then I could be a private investigator with a robotic hand), a fat Billy Bob Thornton getting his shit ruined by Kurt Russell ("I said throw down, Boy!") and lots of helpless women. Fucking sweet.

Oh, and it's got one of the most badass characters in film history. God, Doc Holliday kicks ass. "My dear, you're not wearing a bustle. How lewd." Nice. I wish I had tuberculosis.

Gratuitous Simpsons Quote

"If you don't like your job, you don't strike. You just go in every day and do it really half-assed. That's the American way." (Are you listening, Writer's Guild of America? It ain't like you were busting your ass on the job to begin with. I saw 30 seconds of "'Til Death" once. You clearly aren't putting your heart into this shit.)

Halftime Masturbation Kit
&#8226; For the guys: Transformers star Megan Fox. Megan is engaged to Brian Austin Green. Really? Jesus. I'm gonna go drink a liter of battery acid now. Megan has Brian's name tattooed on her stomach, which I assume provides a useful target for her fiancée. She also has a tattoo quoting Shakespeare: "We will all laugh at gilded butterflies." Not one of Shakespeare's better quotes. I bet one of the 1,000 monkeys in his workshop coined that one.
&#8226; For the gals: Reader Erin M. submits this shirtless pic of Paul Walker. You remember Paul Walker. He played that guy with no personality in that movie you forgot about five seconds after leaving the theater. A quick glance at Paul's lower abdomen reveals a distinct ridge of muscle running along the crest of each hip. I totally have abs like that. I call that feature my "Love Parabola."

Blatantly False, ProFootballTalk-Style, Fred Edelstein-esque Rumor Of The Week
WE HEAR... that The Eagles will play the halftime of this year's Super Bowl. It's the perfect musical accompaniment to a 57-point Patriots blowout.

Three Questions Sideline Reporters Should Ask But Won't
&#8226; "Philip, mind if I call you Marmalard? Fucking Marmalard."
&#8226; (to anyone) "Seriously? Megan Fox is boning Brian Austin Green? That's fucked."
&#8226; "Reggie Wayne! Your mom's name is Euwayne Wayne. I don't have a question, I just thought I'd make fun of that fact."

Your Motivational Pregame Quote for The Weekend
"No time for tiddlywinks."
-Del

Enjoy the games, everyone.

Yeah, yeah. I know there's a big fucking game this week. I read all about it. Gregg Easterbrook has already prepared for The Tribulation. Peter King has stocked up on extra baby wipes and Keri lotion. Cris Collinsworth has spent extra time watching game film and less time at Central Park having old people feed him very small pieces of bread. That shit is already well-covered and then some.

Let us, instead, turn our attention to the best story in the NFL this year: Derek Anderson.

Derek Anderson is currently second in the NFL in touchdown passes. He's also rocking a gaudy 95.5 passer rating, and he has the Browns at 4-3. Those are all real stats. I totally looked them up just now specifically to BLOW YOUR MIND. This is the guy who started the year backing up Charlie Frye, for a franchise whose signature highlight after returning to the NFL in 1999 was when their fans threw a shitload of plastic bottles at the Jacksonville Jaguars and ended a game prematurely. I thought that was awesome, by the way. Far more exciting than if the game had ended in normal fashion. Every game should end with a small plastic container riot. Who's it gonna hurt?

Now not only does Anderson have the Browns in playoff contention, but he's also kept noted douchebag Brady Quinn tethered to the bench, perhaps permanently. All while Notre Dame has gone 1-7 on the year! Anderson has given fans the opportunity to cheer his success, and he has also given fans the opportunity to cheer Quinn's downfall. It doesn't get any better than that, people. You get all the joys of victory and all the joys of schadenfreude in a single dose. Tough shit, Brades. I like pleasure spiked with your pain.

So I thought I'd try and learn more about this nascent hero. I checked out Anderson's player page on the Browns website. And here is what I discovered.

&#8226; Derek's nickname is DA. Pretty clever. I bet Linda Cohn gave him that handle. She's creative like that.
&#8226; He was waived by Baltimore. The Ravens letting go of a decent QB? Why, that's unheard of! (NOTE: When the Ravens cut a player, they call in Ray Lewis to actually cut the player before releasing him.)
&#8226; His favorite TV show is "The Big Break," which is a show on the Golf Channel. Did you ever wonder who was the one person in America who watched the Golf Channel? It's Derek!
&#8226; His favorite movies are "Remember the Titans" and "Happy Gilmore." I was hoping to see "Au Revoir, Les Enfants" on there. Alas, I was disappointed.
&#8226; He watches "Laguna Beach." Maybe he and Simmons could talk about it over a pedicure sometime.
&#8226; He rooted for the Cowboys when he grew up.

Okay, so this is a pretty fucking boring list. It's unbecoming of a man who is helping to resurrect Cleveland football. He needs better highlights to his backstory. And here they are:

&#8226; Derek "Horse Balls" Anderson was born in a Scappoose, Oregon in 1983.
&#8226; His father was a world-champion log-roller. His mother was a sassy waitress at a greasy spoon. Derek was conceived in a wheelbarrow.
&#8226; Derek's mother gave birth to him while sliding down a log flume. The afterbirth was fed to a baby ox.
&#8226; Derek spent a lot of time as a child at his father's lumber operation, twice a week fulfilling the duty of "barrel boy".
&#8226; One day while in the barrel, a group of lumberjacks thought it would be a fun prank to stick a horse's penis in the barrel. So they did. When Derek encountered the horse's penis, he yelled from the barrel, "Men, if you're gonna stick a horse's cock in here, you may as well give me the balls as well." From there on, he was given the name "Horse Balls," and he never spent another day in the barrel again.
&#8226; He has been show-jumping buffalo since age 5.
&#8226; Derek was not known as an overly impressive athlete at Scappoose High School. He wasn't the cocky sort. Nor was he prone to acts of bravado. He wasn't even the strongest kid on the team. But what set Derek apart from all the others was his incredible unflappability. Nothing ever seemed to bother him. Ever.
&#8226; Not even when his team was losing by 50 points (which it often was).
&#8226; Not even during the traditional Scappoose High "Broken Plunger" hazing rituals his freshman year.
&#8226; Not even when he clicked on the Lemon Party website by accident.
&#8226; Not even when his father chained him to a desk in a drunken rage and attacked his mother, who then shot him dead with the family revolver.
&#8226; Teammates dislike playing practical jokes on Derek, because he does not exhibit any visual reaction to things like poop, fireworks, gunshots or cock slaps.
&#8226; Nothing has ever fazed Derek Anderson. Some doctors have said that Derek has Asperger's Syndrome. But I prefer to think of him as the perfect savior for the Browns: quiet, modest, hardworking, and disturbingly poised.
&#8226; Derek is the only player on the Browns that likes Kellen Winslow.
&#8226; Liz Phair used Derek as her inspiration for the song "Supernova." Derek's penis is average-sized, but he does indeed "fuck like a volcano." And if anyone knows a thing or about getting hollowed out, it's Liz Phair.

There. I like that better. So three cheers to you, Horse Balls. You've made the Browns interesting again, and that's more than enough.

The Games

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

Five Throwgasms

Patriots at Colts: You have to pray that the Colts at least keep it close. If the Patriots roll in and hang a 40-20 win or some shit like that in Indy, what little suspense there is left in this NFL season is gone. Completely. It'll just be a three-month blowout freakshow after that. Fuck me up the ass with a broken-off paper cutter blade.

All that's left is the faint hope that some brave defender will take my $50 bounty seriously and turn Tom Brady's leg into something resembling a Frank Gehry design. May I suggest Bilbao?

Four Throwgasms

Cowboys at Eagles: Little known fact: Tony Romo's new contract contains over $8 million in bonuses should he reach certain statistical goals for touchdowns, completions and smiles.

This is the Sunday night game, so you're going to see a lot of NBC promos for "Phenomenon," that reality show with magicians. As you know, we are awash in a world of douchebags. But I'm hard-pressed, very hard-pressed, to think of a bigger douche than Criss Angel. Seriously. Wow. What a douchetard. Does Angel know that it's no longer 1988? This asshole has his own logo/half-assed anarchy symbol on his jeans AND on his necklace. And I see not one, but TWO handcuff accessories on his person. You know what, shitbox? Just wear a top hat, ask me to pick a card and be done with it, Magic Boy. Stop dressing like you're Nikki Sixx. I didn't ask for a rock 'n' roll magician, and I don't fucking want one. Fuckhead.

Ravens at Steelers: Mike Tomlin has clearly been attending the Mo Vaughn School Of Sticking Out Your Lower Lip To Make Yourself Look Meaner.

Packers at Chiefs

Three Throwgasms

Broncos at Lions: The Lions are actually going to play a meaningful Thanksgiving Day game this year against the Packers. This troubles me, because I usually eat during the Lions game. Now I won't know when to eat. Or take my annual 70-minute Thanksgiving Day dump.

Two Throwgasms

Chargers at Vikings: The Chargers are getting just good enough again to cruelly get your hopes up before shitting the bed at the end of the year. Damn them. Such a waste of kickass new uniforms.

Jaguars at Saints
Redskins at Jets
Bengals at Bills
Panthers at Titans
Cardinals at Bucs

One Throwgasm

Seahawks at Browns: This game and the Raider game both merit one star simply by airing at the same time as Pats-Colts. If you live in Seattle, Cleveland, Houston or Oakland, you're going to be mighty tempted to head to a bar and cheat on your favorite team. I'm of the mind that cheating on your team is acceptable once or twice a year, so long as you make a genuine effort to keep your eyes on your team's game at least 50 percent of the time while at the bar. If you're using that other bit of time to get a feel for the other, GOOD game, that's understandable. But, if you forgo your team's game entirely to watch Pats-Colts, and you don't even turn your gaze back to Shaun Alexander's latest one-yard carry through a hole five yards wide? Well, that's just fucking cold. A dedicated fan is one who voluntarily suffers for no good reason. That's what makes sports fun.

Texans at Raiders
Niners at Falcons

Pregame Song That Makes Me Want To Run Through A Goddamn Brick Wall

"Tilted", by Sugar. I'll push "Tilted" until I'm blue in the face. Bob Mould is a fucking guitar god who shits power chords and feasts off of the still-pulsating eardrums torn from infants' heads. He fucking rules, and I only wish the video for "Tilted" lived up the song's ball-stomping awesomeness. In a perfect world, this clip would have had a $1 million budget and been directed by Wayne Isham, with lots of jump cuts between live footage and people getting hit by oncoming traffic.

Embarassing Cassingle I Once Owned That Will Not Fire You Up

"Everything You Do (You're Sexing Me)," by Fiona and Kip Winger. When you think of hair metal duets, you think Ozzy and Lita. But you'd be ignoring this legendary pairing. I want you to do me a favor. Watch this video for one minute and tell me you don't think Kip Winger looks exactly like Dane Cook. I mean, fucking exactly like him. Even the hair isn't that far off. I bet Cook totally looks just like this when he sings.

Fantasy Player That Deserves To Die A Slow, Painful Death

Maurice Jones-Drew. Fuck you, Maurice Jones-Drew. Stop sucking for long stretches before occasionally busting out a decent game. If fantasy owners hate anything, it's inconsistency. They know the second they bench you, you'll produce. And the second they stick you back in the lineup, you'll fuck it all up. I hate players like that. Players like YOU, you undersized ball-licker. I also completely disapprove of your hyphenated last name. You know who rocks hyphenated last names? Feminist authors and the husbands they've pussy-whipped. Shit or get off the pot. Pick a name and stay with it. I suggest Drew, because Drew is a fucking killer name. I won't stand for its needless dilution.

Five Potential Key Injuries
&#8226; Javon Walker (knee)
&#8226; Byron Leftwich (sandwich)
&#8226; Entire Redskins roster (anal trauma)
&#8226; Chad Pennington (put down)
&#8226; Fred Taylor (ominous run of good health)

This Week's Suicide Pick

Last week's suicide pool pick of Cleveland was correct (holy shit!). Off the board now are Cleveland, Washington, Chicago, Seattle, Denver, Dallas, Green Bay and New England (Record for the year: 6-2). We once again pick a both a suicide pool team and an actual way of committing suicide. This week's pick: San Diego, and running suicides... until you die! That would be crazy. Crazy AWESOME. I would love for someone to take the traditional basketball drill and fulfill its literal meaning. Especially if that someone is named Kobe Bryant.

Gametime Snack Of The Week

Chili fries. For those times when cheese fries are just too light. You can also get cheese on your chili fries. And sour cream. And bacon. And maybe a pot roast. You really can't go wrong. But, no matter what you top your chili fries with, I think we can all agree on one thing: if you eat them with a fork, you are a fucking pussy.

Chili fries, as you may know, are one of the famed dishes at Johnny Rockets, the restaurant chain owned by Redskins owner Dan "Miles Finch" Snyder. A wise purchase by Snyder. If there's one investment that has some real growth potential, it's a theme restaurant that evokes a time period boomers don't care to remember and present day children don't care to learn about. With lots of overhead. I went into a Johnny Rockets to use the shitter a month ago. There isn't a more depressing restaurant on planet Earth. And I've been to Miami Subs. I know of what I speak.

Gametime Cheap Beer Of The Week

The Famous Narragansett Beer. Made on honor. Sold on merit. Vomited up on Friday. Famous, my ass. The only thing memorable about this beer is the charred circle around your asshole the following morning.

Narragansett was one of the beers I drank during Senior Week. One Senior Week evening out took place in a town 90 minutes from campus. We all rode in a bus down to town. I drank half a bottle of gin on the way. By 10 p.m., I had already thrown up at the bar, gotten bounced and fallen asleep in the middle of the road. This was not an alley, nor a lane, nor a driveway. This was a legitimately busy thoroughfare, used for commerce. I woke up in my dorm room the next morning, with no recollection as to how I got back home. The phone rang. It was my friend Jon.

Me: Hello?

Jon: I fucking hate you.

Me: Wait, how did I...

Jon: I fucking hate you.

And then he hung up. We never talked much after that.

Sunday Afternoon Film Of The Week For Jets Fans (Rams and Dolphins are off)

Candy Stripe Nurses. I'm on the record as having watched a shitload of 1970's softcore pornography. You kids today don't know how good you got it, with your five different Cinemaxes, and frequent episodes of "The Erotic Traveler" and late-night showings of Alabama Jones And The Busty Crusade. When I was a kid, you took what Showtime gave you, and what it gave me was a movie like this, which offered 87 minutes of plot and two minutes of unenhanced breasts. If you were lucky, you got a glimpse of 70's-era bush. I'm telling you, this stuff was thicker and wilder than gorse. I'm shocked they didn't hang ornaments from it.

I'd spend a good 30 minutes with my dick in my hand before anyone got naked on screen. And when they did, I'd have to begin furiously pumping to take advantage of the open window. Otherwise, I had to wait for the next scene. IF THERE WAS ONE! Ever catch a cable porn movie only to realize that you missed all the sex scenes? Horror.

Gratuitous Simpsons Quote

"Careful! They're ruffled!"

Halftime Masturbation Kit
&#8226; For the guys: Supermodel Marisa Miller. I'm a sucker for lace, ruffles, and other frilly adornments. That's quality shit right there.
&#8226; -For the gals: Dreadlock-era Lenny Kravitz. Did you know there are pictures of Lenny naked online? I do now. Guhhhhhhh. Lenny, by the way, was voted the hottest man in the world with tattoos by this site, which I presume is some sort of tattoo authority. This list, frankly, is shit. Perry Farrell is on it. Who knew Perry Farrell was even a sexual entity? Carson Daly is on the list. Billy Bob Thornton is on the list. Bill fucking Goldberg is on the list. Apparently, getting a tattoo makes you 178 percent uglier. Bam Margera? Really? Someone out there wants THAT cock? It probably has a AAA battery lodged inside it.

Blatantly False, ProFootballTalk-Style, Fred Edelstein-esque Rumor Of The Week
WE HEAR... that Britney Spears approached Tony Romo in a nightclub last week only because she was high on Oxycontin and thought he was actually Tony Roma, there to supply her with the delicious ribs she requires thrice daily.

Three Questions Sideline Reporters Should Ask But Won't
&#8226; "Tom, tell me about today's victory. How were you able to SO LONG FUCKO!!!" (bashes Brady's knee with Mag Lite)
&#8226; "Coach Shanahan, have you tried Super PoliGrip? It's the best PoliGrip yet! You can eat corn on the cob now!"
&#8226; "Ray-Ray, did you see that Michael Madsen made the hottest tattooed man list and you did not? Has there ever been a graver injustice in the world?"

Your Motivational Pregame Quote for The Weekend

"Men! You are about to embark on a great crusade... to stamp out run-away decency in the West. Now you will only be risking your lives, whilst I will be risking an almost certain Academy award nomination... for Best Supporting Actor."
-Hedley Lamarr

Enjoy the games, everyone.

Special horse ball photoshop by Dan V.

Say, who's up for an afternoon of gridiron and playful stammering? Yes, the NFL heads to England this week in Roger Goodell's first attempt to force American football down the throats of the international viewing public. I could spurt clotted cream onto a fresh scone, I'm so fucking excited.

I'm quite certain this exhibition is karmic payback for David Beckham landing on our shores over the summer. It's an unspoken rule between us and the rest of the world: we let them have soccer, they let us have football. Anytime that détente is broken, a debt must be recouped. That Beckham shit represented way too much gayness foisted upon us. Some sort of super-macho, FUCK YEAH retaliatory gesture on our end was vitally necessary. And when we Americans strike back, we strike back HARD.

That's right, you English lasses. Joey Porter's heading your way. Hope you know how to properly prepare a rape kit for your local constable. I "spoke" with Joey's manager, who sent me Joey's plan for the trip. It was written in chicken blood on a piece of cloth torn from a schoolgirl's uniform. Here now, is the full transcription:

FRIDAY

7:30AM - Arrive at Gatwick Airport. Wonder how it became day again so fucking quickly. Get to the bottom of how the British control, like, the weather and shit.

8:00AM - Cab to hotel.

8:01AM - The steering wheel's on the left-hand side? You play a joke on Joey Porter, you get fucking killed, ultra-white English man.

9:00AM - Head to pub. Get into three-hour fight with Francis Begbie.

12:01PM - Head to other pub. Patron asks for fag. Explain to patron that Joey Porter ain't no gay pimp. Beat patron to death with giant black cock.

1:00PM - Head to practice. Tell the congregated media the Dolphins will "send Eli Manning back into his momma's Louisiana red snapper." Should help add dash of color to inevitable two-touchdown loss and one-tackle performance.

4:00PM - Taunt Buckingham Palace guards.

5:00PM - Nap, which, due to jet lag, turns into full night's sleep.

SATURDAY

8:00AM - Wake up, forgetting now in London. Punch wall in frustration after failing to proper find socket adapter for blood-stained table saw.

9:00AM - Team breakfast. Would enjoy blood sausage more if made with human blood.

10:00AM - Visit Tower of London. Take copious notes.

12:00PM - Noodles at Wagamama.

1:00PM - Practice. Freak out on Jesse Chatman during seven-on-sevens and injure the last living skill position player the Dolphins have left. Glare at Cam Cameron before he has a chance to get mad.

4:00PM - High tea and cucumber finger sandwiches with the Queen. Ask for Kate Middleton's number in order to find her and grope her fanny.

6:00PM - NFL-sponsored pep rally featuring Arctic Monkeys. Demand T.I. be flown in for a set. Get rejected. Shoot Arctic Monkeys dead in cold blood.

7:00PM - Meat pie. Joey Porter likes meat pies.

8:00PM - Make signature drank in hotel sink: two parts gin, two parts urine, two bay leaves, one part melted strawberry ice cream.

9:00PM - Drink drank.

11:00PM - Try to cut the line at Fabric. Get turned away by bouncer. Bite down on bouncer's carotid artery until movement ceases.

2:00AM - Grab a bitch. Do Joey's thing.

SUNDAY

12:00PM - Wake up. Chronicle evening in leather-bound journal.

2:00PM - Hit Hyde Park. Look for couples fucking in the bushes to scare. Find one. Leap in front of them mid-coitus and shout out, "JOEY PORTER'S GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU!" Walk away giggling.

6:00PM - Take field against Giants at Wembley. Scan crowd for fat-bottomed girls.

6:02PM - Down 21-0.

9:00PM - Spend press conference explaining how the best team didn't win. Be escorted back to USA in Hannibal Lecter mask.

The Games

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

Five Throwgasms

Steelers at Bengals: What's amazing about the Bengals is the fact that, for once, they finally draft the right quarterback and groom him successfully, yet they still can't help but fuck up everything else around him. And now Chad Johnson might be traded. You know who I blame? The NFL competition committee. Give Chad a chance to prance around the end zone after a TD and you've got yourself a happy camper. But now, Johnson has no outlet for his creativity. You can't starve an artist like that. We have officially entered Chad's Blue Period. He may pierce his taint just to fill the empty hole in his heart.

Packers at Broncos: The Broncos and Rockies are both playing at home on Monday night. With both stadiums filled to capacity, competition for local oxygen will be fucking fierce. Hope you brought a six-pack of Perri-Air to the game with you, people of Denver. President Skroob isn't one to share.

Four Throwgasms

Redskins at Patriots: We've had our fun with Pats fans this week. And Lord knows I hate them so. But, as much I want to despise everything that has to do with the Patriots, I can't bring myself to cheer against Randy Moss. The '98 Moss is back, and the long toss to him is once again the most exciting play in football. I don't have it in me to hate him, especially when he's catching 50-yard passes with his fucking elbow. Carlos Rogers, you're not going to have a good day.

Giants at Dolphins: The New York Times reported recently that the head of the NFL's overseas operations would like to see each team play one game overseas once a year somewhere down the line, with maybe even a British player or two joining the league (no mouthguard required!). But, if the NFL truly wanted to grow their brand overseas, there's only one way to do it, and that is to move a team abroad, or put an expansion team there. Man U and countless other soccer clubs of international renown have toured the States. Has it made a difference? Not really.

You have to give people abroad a stake in a team of their own. Ninety percent of the excitement of sports is derived from atmosphere. If you go to England and watch a soccer game there, it's 10 times more fun than watching it here because everyone over there is so fucking passionate about it. You can't help but go with the flow. Same with football here. It's the reason some people get excited about the Olympics every four years: Because so many other people also decide to get excited about them. No, you don't give a shit about figure skating at any other time. But that's kind of the point. It's what makes it special.

Put the sport in its proper atmosphere, and it flourishes. If you just trot it out to varying international locales with no rhyme or reason, no one gives a shit. If the NFL won't put a team permanently in England, it'll never be anything more than a passing fancy.

Which is fine with me. Keep those pasty British hands off my NFL, Goodell. I don't give a shit how Irish you may look.

Three Throwgasms

Lions at Bears
Colts at Panthers
Texans at Chargers

Two Throwgasms

Eagles at Vikings
Raiders at Titans

One Throwgasm

Browns at Rams
Bills at Jets
Jaguars at Bucs
Saints at Niners

Pregame Song That Makes Me Want To Run Through A Goddamn Brick Wall

"Thunderstruck", by AC/DC. Watch the video for "Thunderstruck" and tell me you don't see the future model for all NFL stadia in the next decade. Just a wall of luxury boxes, people. Only head-banging will not be tolerated. This YouTube clip also contains the old "MTV Exclusive" icon in the video credits. That'll take you back.

Judging by the YouTube search, "Thunderstruck" has the distinct honor of being the second worst covered song in the history of amateur guitar playing, next to "Stairway to Heaven." We all know how badass fingerboarding is, people. But please, leave it to the drunken Aussie midget in the schoolboy outfit. Only Angus can pull that shit off.

Embarassing Cassingle I Once Owned That Will Not Fire You Up

"When The Night Comes," by Joe Cocker. I liked putting this song on and then pretending I was in a Michelob ad. If there were ever a song designed for karaoke, this is the one. You could totally impress people the your "Cocker rasp." To this day, it still blows my mind that Joe Cocker is British.

Lest I get too far away from football here at the Jamboroo, and last week certainly went overboard, I'm introducing a brand new item to the column, and here it is.

Fantasy Player That Deserves To Die A Slow, Painful Death

Each week, I'll single out a player for cruel, vicious scorn and berate him or her for bringing down fantasy teams all across the nation. This week, that player is:

Marc Bulger. Fuck you, Marc Bulger. Oh, I expect players like Joey Porter to go right into the shitter the second they sign a contract extension. But you? I thought you were different, man. Instead, you're just another West Fuckin' Virginia Lottery winner like Jack Whittaker: cashing in, groping strangers, buying meth for your niece and all that other shit. Oh sure, you say you're from Pennsylvania. But you're conduct has been strictly hillbilly all year long. You and your pussy ribs make me sick, Bulger. I hope Leonard Little joins your carpool, you underachieving bastard.

Five Potential Key Injuries
&#8226; Ronnie Brown (knee)
&#8226; Jay Cutler (hair)
&#8226; Tarvaris Jackson (who cares as long as he can't play)
&#8226; Jason Campbell (Joe Gibbs)
&#8226; Sage Rosenfels (Simon & Garfunkel jokes)

This Week's Suicide Pick

Last week's suicide pool pick of Washington was correct. Off the board now are Washington, Chicago, Seattle, Denver, Dallas, Green Bay and New England (Record for the year: 5-2). We once again pick a both a suicide pool team and an actual way of committing suicide. This week's pick: Cleveland (holy shit I just picked Cleveland), and shooting yourself in the mouth with a fucking flare gun. Now that is spectacular. Not only does it echo the end of Dead Calm, where Billy Zane eats it with a flare gun, but it also alerts people within a 1,000 yard radius that you are totally dead.

This is like sticking a flashlight in your mouth, only cooler.

Gametime Snack Of The Week

Bugles. What, exactly, is a Bugle? What's it made of? Who knows? Perhaps the answers lie in the amazing Chinese Bugles Fan Club. Here in America, Bugles are just bizarre horn-shaped snacks. Fuck 'em. Especially the chili cheese ones. That's just wrong. But in China, Bugles have a mysticism all their own. Winged nymphs take flight in the hopes of spreading Bugles all across the Glorious Republic. There's even a message board on the site, so that the Chinese proletariat can join together in support of the Bugle manifesto, whatever that may be.

Gametime Cheap Beer Of The Week

Red Dog. I'm not entirely certain they sell Red Dog anymore. In fact, I'm pretty sure they don't. And that's too bad, because Red Dog is one tough, rugged beer. You throw a bulldog in a commercial and give him Tommy Lee Jones' voice, well shit, it don't get no manlier than that. Red Dog beer was the spiritual brother of Big Dogs t-shirts. Remember Big Dogs? If you can't run with the Big Dogs, stay off the motherfuckin' porch! So, so true. You can still buy Big Dogs t-shirts today. You can even buy kids' tees. Because nothing's more badass than buying your kid a Transformutts t-shirt.

I was annoyed the first time I drank Red Dog because the beer itself was not red. In fact, I'm pretty sure it was just MGD in a different bottle. I firmly believe that if you name your beer Red anything, the beer itself should be red. Otherwise, the thrill is gone.

Sunday Afternoon Film Of The Week For Rams Fans

Revenge of the Nerds. You just can't make a movie like this anymore. You can't have a character like Takashi dress up as an Indian and bang a gong, thereby hitting two stereotypes in a single character. You can't have the main nerd throw on a Darth Vader mask and tongue-rape a cheerleader, then have her end up enjoying it. You can't pan down for bush. You can't design a javelin that works with Lamar's limp-wristed throwing style. And that is a goddamn shame. We need more movies like this, by golly!

That said, the nerd rap scene didn't age very well. When I was 10, this was one of the awesomest scenes in the history of the cinema. Now it's more dated than a Rick Reilly joke. A damn shame.

One last thing: those California wildfires? I blame Fireball. Fireball! Fireball! Fireball!

Gratuitous Simpsons Quote
"Your cable television is experiencing difficulties. Please do not panic. Resist the temptation to read or talk to loved ones. Do not attempt sexual relations, as years of TV radiation have left your genitals withered and useless."

Halftime Masturbation Kit
&#8226; For the guys: British FHM model Emily Scott. British tabloids are infamous for having naked women on their inside pages. I wish we in America would adopt a similar custom. If every man started the day off with some tits, he'd be far more unlikely to do evil things.
&#8226; For the gals: Hunky manbeef Ryan Reynolds. Some of you ladies have complained about the quality of men I select for the ol' HMK. Well, then help a brutha out. Just send me a goddamn email or something telling me who you want. I don't know who does it for you and who doesn't, for shit's sake. It's not my fault I'm so darn heterosexual. Point me in the right direction. If you ask for Ashton Kutcher, I'll put a bounty on your head.

Blatantly False, ProFootballTalk-Style, Fred Edelstein-esque Rumor Of The Week
WE HEAR... that Terrell Owens has gone back to being a cancer in the team clubhouse ever since finding out "Viva Laughlin" was cancelled.

Three Questions Sideline Reporters Should Ask But Won't
&#8226; "Randy, can you help get my cat of that tree over there?"
&#8226; "Mr. Easterbrook, do you have the entire series of Left Behind books committed to memory?"
&#8226; "Brett! Oh, thank God you're back! When you're off for a week, King starts huffing gas!"

Your Motivational Pregame Quote for The Weekend

"AHAHAHAHAHA and the quarterback is TOAST!"
-Theo (Side note: what the fuck ever happened to the guy who played him? I fucking loved that guy. "Whoa ho ho! Looks like the police have themselves an RV!")

Enjoy the games, everyone.

I went to New York last weekend to spend some time with a few friends. I did not bring my wife and kid with me. Any time I have an opportunity to have an evening (or in this case, a whole weekend) alone to myself these days, I take great advantage by abusing the ever-loving shit out of my body: food, alcohol, drugs, hour-long masturbathons, etc. It's the kind of weekend I start off looking forward, and then, once in the throes of it, I immediately begin to regret. That dipshit in the corner of the bar at 3AM who's drooling and rambling on about how much he misses his family? That's me.

To give you an idea of just how poorly I treat myself on such occasions, here are a few highlights from the past jaunt. I'm not doing this to brag. You probably have far more exciting weekends on a regular basis: chock full of casual sex, flagrant law-breaking and such and such. Fuck you. But don't worry. This will all tie back to the NFL for both you and me in just a moment. I assure you.

FRIDAY

Friday night I went to Brooklyn for a party at a bar that featured $2 Pabst Blue Ribbon cans. Now, I get drunk at home every weekend. Nothing new there. But I tend to get drunk at home by quaffing glasses of wine and topping off the evening with some bourbon. That's a very relaxed, loose kind of drunk. Very elegant. You can still hold a conversation when you're drunk like that. But getting drunk off cheap beer, particularly one as hip as PBR, produces a notably different sort of drunk. It's the sort of drunk that causes you to tell people just how drunk you are, like so:

Me: HEY!

Stranger: Hello.

Me: Dude, I am fucking HAMMERED.

Stranger: Okay...

Me: Dude, where the fuck is MATT? (NOTE: When I drink, I often spend a lot of time asking people where other people are.) I wanna do some fucking KARAOKE. I will own his SHIT.

Stranger: I ... I don't know. I'm sorry.

Me: I gotta piss.

I got drunk to the point where a friend had to lead me out of the bar and hail a cab for me. I enjoyed this, because it meant I didn't have to hail a cab myself, which I dislike.

SATURDAY

The next morning I woke up in my friend Jeremy's apartment (not his real name). I had spent the night on an Aerobed, also known in the common vernacular as a fucking raft. From the Aerobed, I rolled onto the floor and then crawled across the room to the toilet to throw up. I have quite the knack for booting loudly. It sounds like someone bailing out a sinking boat. At 7 a.m., this woke up Jeremy, who was sleeping in the room upstairs. He kicked me.

Jeremy: Hey fuckhead, you left vomit on the toilet rim.

Me: Can you get me some Advil?

Jeremy: Fine.

Me: You're my best friend.

Jeremy: Go fuck yourself.

I began drinking again at lunch. At around 4, I met up with two friends at a bar called Red Rock West. If you've never been, by all means continue your streak. But if you're a douchebag, this is just the place for you. It's one of those bars tended by 16-year-old girls wearing cowboy boots who are purposely drunk, loud and obnoxious to the customers. Ever see Coyote Ugly? Don't. At 4 p.m., this is the most annoying place on the face of the Earth.

To add to the general atmosphere, my friend Paul (not his real name) was being deployed to Saudi Arabia for a year for work. In Saudi Arabia, Americans have to live in gated compounds, and there's no alcohol or prostitution to keep yourself occupied. The Internet is also filtered, so no porn. Thus Paul, who had been drinking since 10 a.m. that morning (and had gone to bed at 6 a.m. after spending the previous night at a tittie bar), would grab me by the lapels every 10 minutes and then yell, for no reason: "WELCOME TO HELL!" I don't think Paul has a very good attitude about all this.

Paul: Dude, you have to send me booze and porn.

Me: I can't do that. Isn't that contraband? Don't they check your mail and shit? I bet they steam open your envelopes, and then they come and chop my dick off for sending you an Andrew Blake movie.

Paul: Oh yeah. I hadn't thought of that.

We left immediately and headed to a normal bar with regular, sane bartenders and proper lumbar support. We then ordered every friend item on the menu, which in turn caused me to spend the majority of the LSU-Kentucky game letting out farts that could legally be declared a biohazard. But, because I was already drunk, I found each successive fart more hysterical than the last. I was the only one who felt this way.

Jeremy: You are a fucking disgusting animal.

Me: (farting) Oh my God, this is goddamn funny.

Jeremy: No, it's not.

From there, we went to a restaurant for dinner. While we waited for the table at the bar, I grabbed a matchbook. I took out a match, lit it and then lit the rest of the matches in the matchbook. I'm 31, mind you. I really did do this. The fucker flared right up and burned the shit out of my finger. The hostess thought about kicking us out for a second, but then just settled for glaring at me. Jeremy grabbed me.

Jeremy: What the fuck is wrong with you? Any time you leave home you turn into a fucking retard?

Me: (still farting) Yeah. Kinda.

This brings us to...

SUNDAY

I woke up Sunday morning with a headache. I was also short of breath and had some tightness in my chest. My shoulders hurt when I inhaled. I may have had a mild heart attack. I'm not sure.

And that, good friends, is where the NFL comes into play. Yes, we all enjoy the ideal Sunday scenario of living it up with friends at the bar or enjoying a kickass tailgate party, etcetera, etcetera. But, just as often, we spend our Sundays curled up under a blanket, waiting for God's unmerciful vengeance to eventually subside. No, the NFL won't cure your hangover. But it will nurture you through that hangover, and give you a nice, 10-hour diversion from your quiet suffering.

That's the side of the NFL fan you often don't see. And, if you had seen me on Sunday morning, you would understand wholeheartedly why you don't see it.

The Games

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

Five Throwgasms

Colts at Jaguars: Hey, the Jags have finally reclaimed their throne as the AFC's emptiest threat! Good for them. As I recall, the Jags ran through the Colts last year like the ASU football team through Courtney Simpson. I bet that makes Bob Sanders madder than shit. I'd stay the fuck away from that guy if I were a Jags running back. He may have a PR-24 on him.

Four Throwgasms

Steelers at Broncos: Travis Henry will apparently be allowed to play through the next three weeks at least. That's three more weeks he gets to completely fuck with your fantasy psyche until you finally have to drop him.

Three Throwgasms

Vikings at Cowboys: The mere presence of Adrian Peterson makes the Vikings about 300 percent more watchable. And really, that's all I ask for. I know my team isn't gonna win the Super Bowl. Most teams aren't. All I ask is that they entertain me. And holy shit, is Purple Jesus fun to watch. Even when the Vikings get throttled, as they will this week.

Chiefs at Raiders: This game promises to be a battle between two teams that have a real histo... hey look! Drunk Girl Nipple Slips! (NSFW, duh)

Bears at Eagles

Titans at Texans: This is a particularly crummy slate of games this week. Instead of ruminating on the rest of them, let us now praise the comedic genius of Mr. JB Smoove, aka the narrator from Pootie Tang, a.k.a., Leon from this season of "Curb Your Enthusiasm".

Some of Leon's choicest quotes from this year:

&#8226; "Get in that ass, Larry"
&#8226; "I tell you what, I like a girl with a smartass mouth like that."
&#8226; "Ejacalate?"
&#8226; "That's that ejacalate."
&#8226; "I gets mine! I bring the ruckus to the ladies!"
&#8226; "We got some Joe Pepitone up in this motherfucker."

This man is a genius. I kneel before your majesty, JB.

Bucs at Lions
Niners at Giants
Cardinals at Redskins
Jets at Bengals

One Throwgasm:

Ravens at Bills
Rams at Seahawks
Patriots at Dolphins
Falcons at Saints

Pregame Song That Makes Me Want To Run Through A Goddamn Brick Wall
"Bodysnatchers" by Radiohead. Hey Radiohead, guess how much I decided to pay for your new album? Nothing. Your little reverse psychology bullshit doesn't work on selfish pricks such as myself. Nice try, Thom Yorke. You may fancy yourself a very small man of the people. But we all know you're just Dave Mustaine with shorter hair and a droopy eye. Perhaps this will teach you to show capitalism a little bit more goddamn respect.

I will give this to Radiohead, though. When I named my price of 0.00 (bear in mind that was in pounds sterling, so I got really fucked on the exchange rate), they at least had the courtesy of following through on my offer, and they gave me a darn fine album to boot. Compare this to priceline.com, which might have the most annoying business model in the history of online purchasing. Hey Priceline, you know how much I want to pay for plane tickets? Nothing. I also don't want to pay for the fucking rental car, or the hotel either. So don't give me this "name your own price" horseshit. Your way of doing business is, "Enter $0, then find out we charged $500 to your credit card for a flight from that makes seven stops, one of which is Easter Island." Fuck you. And fuck Shatner.

I like "Bodysnatchers" a lot, especially when the band goes apeshit at the end. I can picture Yorke doing that thing where he shakes his little tiny head from side to side, like it's just about to fall off his body. One day it really will. That would be a neat trick.

Embarassing Cassingle I Once Owned That Will Not Fire You Up

"New Thing" by Enuff Z'nuff. I remember being a kid in the 80's and thinking to myself, "Hey! You know what the world needs? A hippie hair metal band." And lo and behold, my wish was fulfilled. On a scale of 1 to Gay, this video doesn't quite rank up there with "Fly High Michele," but man, it's still pretty damn gay. But Enuff Z'nuff was all about having a good time, man. And I was so down with that when I was 13. Plus, lead singer Chip Z'Nuff (I think that's an Italian name) wore his sunglasses right on the end of his nose. That's rad!

Five Potential Key Injuries
&#8226; Vince Young (quad)
&#8226; Joey Porter (acute fuckheadedness)
&#8226; Kurt Warner (indifferent God)
&#8226; Adrian Peterson (Brad Childress)
&#8226; Laurence Maroney (wild card)

This Week's Suicide Pick
Last week's suicide pool pick of Chicago was, I'm happy to report, dead fucking wrong. Off the board now are Chicago, Seattle, Denver, Dallas, Green Bay and New England (Record for the year: 4-2). We once again pick a both a suicide pool team and an actual way of committing suicide. This week's pick: Washington, and taking a seat on the ol' Judas Cradle. Ah, the Judas Cradle. It's a kickass torture device and AND a kickass song by Sugar. According to Wikipedia:

The Judas Chair was a pyramid-shaped seat used for torture. The victim was placed on top of it, with the point inserted into their anus or vagina, then very slowly lowered by ropes. Some theories suggest that the intended effect was to stretch the orifice over a long period of time, or to slowly impale.

Stretch the orifice? Troy Aikman would like to order six of them, please. HEY-O!!!!!!

Gametime Snack Of The Week

Ugh. Crudite. Who the fuck eats raw cauliflower? And raw broccoli tastes like my lawn. I'm down with carrots, and peppers, maybe even the occasional sugarsnap. But I am, by and large, against the idea of crudite as legitimate snack. It's the snack for people who desperately want a Ho Ho, but cry every time they look in the mirror. I want to eat healthy, but fuck that. I want a flauta.

Aw, yeah. That's more like it. Mexicans eat flautas, and Mexicans are small. So they must be good for you. I better eat a lot of them to make sure I get all that nutrition.

Gametime Cheap Beer Of The Week

Bud Select. Put that fucking Chimay down, people, because this is one high-end motherfuckin' beer. Oh, this isn't regular old Budweiser. That's for poor people. No, this is Bud Select, made using only the finest sand and grits. Jay-Z drinks it, and you know how much he did for Cristal's brand image!

Seriously though, who buys this shit? Beer whores like me know this is just that old World Select beer with a black label slapped on it. Did you think no one would notice your tomfoolery, Anheuser Busch? I also like the fact that they package it in Slim Line cans. Because if football fans love anything, it's a vessel that can hold less beer. Ooh! Ooh! It almost looks like a can of Red Bull! That's hip! Yeah, you'd look like real stallion at the game drinking beer out of a miniature can. I'm sure no one would give you shit about that.

Sunday Afternoon Film Of The Week For Rams Fans

Excalibur, which is by far the best serious movie about King Arthur. It's got dudes nailing chicks while still wearing armor, which is eight different kinds of awesome. I want to do that. It makes it look like you're having sex and kicking ass simultaneously. And that is sweet.

Pretty much every other serious King Arthur movie blows. That one with Richard Gere and Sean Connery slap-fighting over Julia Ormond? Totally gay. And The Sword In Stone was a Disney movie, which means all the armor-fucking scenes were left on the drawing board. A real pity. Kids would have dug that.

Gratuitous Simpsons Quote
"Haven't you learned anything from that guy who gives those sermons at church?! Captain Whatshisname?! We live in a society of laws! Why do you think I took you to all those Police Academy movies? For fun? Well, I didn't hear anybody laughing! DID YOU?"

Halftime Masturbation Kit
&#8226; For the guys: Lucy Pinder. Lucy is British. Makes you wonder why Thom Yorke is so sad.
&#8226; For the gals: JFK Jr. replicant Patrick Dempsey. You shit on my house, Dempsey! You shit on my house!

Blatantly False, ProFootballTalk-Style, Fred Edelstein-esque Rumor Of The Week
WE HEAR... that the set of Joe Buck's new late night talk show will employ two industrial strength humidifiers to keep the host's humor at the appropriate level of dryness.

Three Questions Sideline Reporters Should Ask But Won't
&#8226; "Peyton! Peyton! How did you spend your bye week? Really? Christ, that's boring."
&#8226; "Big Ben? How did you spend your bye week? Really? You didn't know the difference between a subject and a predicate before now?"
&#8226; "Coach Cameron, you're now 0-7. When you go to London next week, why fucking return?"

Your Motivational Pregame Quote for The Weekend
"If the milk turns out to be sour, I ain't the kinda pussy to drink it."
-Rory Breaker

Enjoy the games, everyone.

You're, of course, familiar with the top secret, company-wide ESPN memo obtained by this evil little site earlier this year. It was a fascinating document, offering precious insight as to just how little ESPN could give a shit about you, the viewer. It also shed some light on how ESPN works as a company. Clearly, their workforce lacks the can-do spirit of companies such as the Crimson Permanent Assurance (seen above).

Well, as luck would have it, I have obtained a second town meeting memo that centered squarely on ESPN's NFL coverage. My journalistic integrity precludes me from revealing my source, but he/she/Pam Ward has given me permission to repost it here, in its entirety. Enjoy!

MEMORANDUM
TO: Content Staff FROM: John Skipper DATE: 10/10/2007
SUBJECT: October '07 Town Meetings Q&A Follow-Up

During our October Town Meetings, there were several questions that I was unable to answer. All of the replies below are from various department heads, who were able to address those particular questions.

Question:

As one of the on-air talents, who am I supposed to blatantly root for on the air with regard to Sunday's Cowboys-Patriots tilt?! I feel like I'm being forced to choose between my own children! IT'S TEARING ME APART!!!! Please, tell me what to do!

Answer:

Please do not panic. As always, we have a special plan in place to ensure that the thoughts of the individual remain in concert with the thoughts of the collective. Please do not attempt to formulate your own opinion, or you will be locked in Conference Room 8J and angrily buttfucked by a starving brown bear. We laid out a plan for this scenario well before the season began. For this week's Patriots-Cowboys game, we will root for whichever team is currently on offense, and then spend the rest of the year rooting for the team that emerges victorious.

To make sure we are giving each team the proper knobslobbing, we are taking drastic steps. Next week's NFL Countdown will pretend no other teams exist. We have also stationed Ed Werder inside Jerry Jones' colon and Sal Paolantonio inside Bill Belichick's "Tickle Room" for the duration of the week. We also have a portable defibrillator on hand for Mr. Berman should he again feel tingling in his arm. Rest assured, neither team will be go without a full-on salad tossing.

Question:

Can you believe last Monday night's game?! I mean, can you believe it?! One team was behind, but then they came back and WON at the end! I mean, that is AMAZING! Could you ever have envisioned that?!

Answer:

Excellent observation, Tony. I think you're doing a bang-up job.

Question:

Help! I've been blinded by Suzy Kolber's turtleneck!

Answer:

I'm sorry, but our benefits don't include workman's comp. But Ms. Kolber has been asked to forgo glaring pastels for calmer earth tones from now on.

Question:

I was wondering if we could have more local ads pop up on ESPNNEWS just as the score viewers want is about to come up on the crawl. I like the fact that the crawl is displayed during national ads, but then it arbitrarily goes away during ads for wood chippers.

Answer:

We are behind that 100% and working to make sure viewers NEVER get the score they want.

Question:

A certain on-air talent has taken to analyzing his own bowel movements in the fourth floor men's room, which I can hear even from the women's bathroom. I typed out this transcript: "Now that is a flat-out GREAT shit. I don't care who you are, you have to respect what my ass is doing right now. You can just see this turtle pushing pushing pushing out, and then releasing to the corner of the bowl. You know what? I want to get a replay of this on my phone. You see how my massive brown Payday bar runs the curl? Tell you what, that's the kind of route I remember from back in my days at USC." Is there any way I can prevent this sort of thing from happening ever ever ever again?

Answer:

No. Talent can do whatever the fuck they want. Maybe if you loosened up your blouse and your panties a bit, this wouldn't be such a problem for you, sweetheart.

Question:

Mr. Ditka headbutted the vending machine again. Can we get him some sort of forehead padding?

Answer:

R&D is already on this and should have something prepared by mid-March.

Question:

I was watching the opening to Monday Night Football, and I feel like our cross-promotion with the show "Dirty Sexy Money" was a bit soft. Couldn't we have forced that down the viewers' throats for at least 35 minutes, instead of just 25? Peter Krause is dreamy!

Answer:

We are listening to your concerns on that, and it will be addressed. Christina Applegate will be doing the entire second half of this week's broadcast AND she will be doing it in character as Samantha Who? Should be fun.

Question:

I was working on a PowerPoint deck with Mr. Parcells when he decided to go home at 9PM. But we hadn't finished! I was up until 2AM that night formatting the template. I want to know how we can force some accountability around here on matters such as this.

Answer:

For our policy on Accountability, please see the 250,000 words of legal copy at the end of our company handbook. All company responsibility has been redirected by our lawyers to a trademarked fictional character named "The Earl Of Persimmon."

Question:

Mr. Simmons said he guaranteed me a 9-5 betting week 13 days ago. I want my money back or I'll tear that smarmy fucking douche limb from limb.

Answer:

The company does not discuss matters of usury. Those are strictly private matters between employees dumb enough to actually think they're smarter than Vegas. Thank you all for your questions. You fucking sheep.

The Games

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

Five Throwgasms

Patriots at Cowboys

Four Throwgasms

Redskins at Packers: Chris Berman recently said that rooting for Brett Favre is like rooting for America. I'm not sure Chris understands just how many people out there fucking hate America.

Three Throwgasms

Raiders at Chargers: The shockingly decent Raiders could end up being a factor in the AFC West if they win in San Diego. For that alone, Lane Kiffin deserves some kind of prize. My suggestion: a job outside of Oakland. Failing that, perhaps Bubb Rubb could give him some free whistle tips.

Two Throwgasms:

Bengals at Chiefs: There are two things that will compel me to watch a bad game. The first, obviously, is if I have fantasy players playing in it. But the second thing is if it's on CBS. That sounds odd, but somehow shitty games feel even shittier when broadcast on FOX. CBS has nicer graphics to class up the joint, plus they have the Stattrax. I can't tell you how much I enjoy getting instant stat totals after each play. There's nothing quite like spending an entire game watching Larry Johnson reach 32 total yards carry by agonizing carry.

Titans at Bucs: Both these teams have winning records, and yet I feel like they suck.

Vikings at Bears: And here are two teams that leave no doubt whatsoever as to their suckitude. Although the Bears suck far less.

Eagles at Jets: Nice to see the Jets finally fulfilling last year's expectations.

Saints at Seahawks

One Throwgasm:

Rams at Ravens: My mind wanders during a game this fucking terrible. I often find myself wondering where my belly hair ends and my pubic hair begins. I'm sorry, did I write that out loud?

Dolphins at Browns: And how come I look so good in the mirror but so lousy in photographs?

Panthers at Cardinals: Sometimes, when I masturbate, I like to pretend I'm a fighter pilot trying to get his plane out of a tailspin. Oh, and this game blows.

Giants at Falcons: I was a freshman in college in '94. That was the fall that "Pulp Fiction" came out. Ever walk into a dorm party with 30 drunk girls in sweatpants singing "Son Of A Preacher Man" in unison? This game promises to be just as annoying.

Texans at Jaguars

Pregame Song That Makes Me Want To Run Through A Goddamn Brick Wall

"Six Barrel Shotgun" by Black Rebel Motorcycle Club. I like BRMC (that's the acronym used by wannabes such as myself). I especially like the fact that they have a cool name. It's obvious to me that they just sat around one day and tried to find the coolest keywords possible. Then they just threw them together to make a band name. Black? That's a cool color. And rebels are totally cool because they don't give a fuck about nuthin'. And cool people ride motorcycles, too! And they're in clubs that are super exclusive! Hence, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club. What's it mean? It means awesomeness, that's what the fuck it means.

That's the kind of band name I'm happy to say aloud. There's nothing worse than having someone ask what I'm listening to, followed by me being embarrassed to say the name of the band because it's so stupid. For example, I'm a big fan of a British rock group named A. That's it. That their name. Just the letter A. What a fucking awful name. If I'm listening to a song by that band and someone asks me who they are, I make up a different name for them, like Hail of Bullets, or something like that. I'm too embarrassed to say the band's real name. That's not good.

"Six Barrel Shotgun" is a cool song, and I like the fact that it evokes a badass piece of weaponry that, from what I can tell, does not yet exist. But I can picture such a weapon in my mind, and it looks fucking sweet. Good spraying radius with six barrels. You're bound to hit at least a piece of your target with that.

To balance out this gross display of musical taste, I'm establishing the following weekly item to counter it:

Embarrassing Cassingle I Once Owned That Will Not Fire You Up

I once owned cassingles by the dozen. Yes, I'm old. Fuck you in the pants. You might think it's dumb to pay $5 for a cassingle when you could get an entire album for $10. Not so. Trust me, it was well worth that extra money to NOT hear the rest of Slaughter's "Stick It To Ya." I really do believe that. This week's cassingle is "Jealous," by Gene Loves Jezebel, who were apparently the sister band to Johnny Hates Jazz (Fast Fact: "Shattered Dreams" is Trent Green's favorite song). I don't think there was anyone named Gene or Jezebel in that band. But they do still exist. Fun fact: they have TWO drummers. Why? Eh, why the fuck not?

Five Potential Key Injuries
&#8226; Matt Leinart (collarbone, feelings)
&#8226; Shaun Alexander (senior slide)
&#8226; Michael Pittman (club penis)
&#8226; David Carr (split ends)
&#8226; Terrell Owens (rectal worm)

This Week's Suicide Pick

Last week's suicide pool pick of Green Bay was wrong. Dead wrong. And just like that, I'm outta the game. But fuck it, let's keep picking suicide pool teams and actual ways of committing suicide anyway. Off the board now are Seattle, Denver, Dallas, Green Bay and New England (Record for the year: 4-1). This week's pick: Chicago, and the Japanese honor suicide of banging a grenade on your helmet and then giving it a big, cuddly hug, as seen here:

Silly Japanese military. You're supposed to take some American motherfuckers down with you. Kamikazes don't have to strictly be the domain of the sky, you know. Idiots.

Gametime Snack Of The Week

Burger King's Chicken Fries. I have a long-standing aversion to food that is shaped like other food. And surely, Chicken Fries have to be one of the more repulsive innovations fast food engineers have foisted upon the world. These fuckers are right up there with things like cheeseburger egg rolls, or Pancakes and Sausage on a stick (I made fun of it before it was cool, Daily Show!), or Frito Lay's Sour Cream and Cheddar Flavored Dried Pig Assholes (patent pending).

And yet, I kinda want to try them. Kinda. I like chicken. I like fries. Surely joining the two together in this unholy alliance could produce equal amounts of flavor and regret. After all, it's just a chicken nugget, only longer. Yet I will probably refrain. These things just fucking LOOK like pure evil. And the fact that they are in fry form suggests they are meant to be a side dish, which disturbs me. Hey, you know what would be good with this Whopper? A side of fried chicken. Oh, but don't worry. It's shaped like a Virginia Slim, so how bad could it possibly be for you?

Gametime Cheap Beer Of The Week

Schaefer. I think we're all familiar with the dreaded "Schaefer Shits," which have been given a plural name because you never take just one. Drinking a case of Schaefer is a great way of punishing your asshole for any recent misbehavior. Chances are, you'll end up in a bathroom stall at four in the morning, with your head tucked between your knees, suffering through a shit that has no end. And smells like scrambled eggs to boot. You think it's over at one point. You really do. Lord knows enough has spilled out of you. But you know there's something left up there. Only it's not coming until your sphincter is as red as the Schaefer label. You cut your losses and decide to wrap things up, but then you end up back in the can ten minutes later, condemned to an evening of fruitless squeezing.

Other than that, it's not that bad a beer.

Sunday Afternoon Film Of The Week For Rams Fans

Clockwise. I'm a card-carrying Anglophile. I watch lots of BCC America ("Coupling" with Oliver is bullshit). I like to say "cheers" instead of "thank you." And I'm contractually obligated to see any film that includes a former member of Python. Some of these movies are not very good, like Erik The Viking ("We will now sing the song that goes tum titty tum tee tum tum tum!"). Others, like Yellowbeard, have their moments (Blind Pew, anyone?). And others, like Clockwise, I think are pretty good but I don't quite remember. It's no Fish Called Wanda, but it does feature lots of set pieces with John Cleese running around and getting really pissed off at everyone. Works for me.

Gratuitous Simpsons Quote
"I've had just about enough of your Vassar-bashing, young lady!"

Halftime Masturbation Kit
&#8226; For the guys: Nicole "Coco" Austin. Coco is married to Ice-T. And apparently, their sex life is quite thrilling. Coco once told Smooth magazine, "We have a box of devices. Ice calls one of the vibrators 'Jack Black'." I too like to name my vibrators after comedians. I have one named after Jeff Dunham that has a smaller, talking vibrator pop out of it. It's more creepy than exciting.
&#8226; For the gals: The always appealing Tim McGraw. Can't hold onto the lamp. Can't hold on to the football.

Blatantly False, ProFootballTalk-Style, Fred Edelstein-esque Rumor Of The Week
WE HEAR... that Andy Reid could step down as soon as this week! And if not this week, then maybe next week, or maybe every week after that until we're correct!

Three Questions Sideline Reporters Should Ask But Won't
&#8226; "Vinny, would you like me to cut your steak for you?"
&#8226; "Coach Belichick, can you please get a stroke? It wouldn't change your personality, but it would make the rest of the NFL feel much better."
&#8226; "Byron, how were you able to complete that pass while eating an entire carton of chicken fries?"

Your Motivational Pregame Quote for The Weekend
"Hello?! You PLAY TO WIN THE GAME, people. Unless, of course, you're me. No, I like my men to prepare as if losing is never in doubt."
-Herman Edwards

Enjoy the games, everyone.

Ever since I was a kid, I dreamed of playing quarterback. Hell, I still dream about it. In an alternate dimension, I've already led the Vikings to six world titles. AND I did it all on a broken ankle. I also own an oceanside condo in Laguna Beach, which I share with Marisa Miller. It's a really nice time. Clooney's coming over Tuesday. You should drop by for some witty banter and a glass of Disaronno if you like.

Anyway, back here in reality ... In the spring of my senior year, I was accepted to the University of Michigan. It was the only school I got into. No other university saw my raw potential. Nor were they awed that I could eat 12 turkey drumsticks in a single sitting. A pity for them. I spent the majority of senior spring imagining myself getting into killer shape (only when I got to Michigan, not any sooner), learning to throw a perfect spiral and walking on to the team as a latter day Johnny U. I'd blow away the coaches, win four national titles and be elected honorary President of every fraternity on campus, even the black ones that didn't allow pledges to speak to white people. I thought it was a really killer plan.

Things didn't quite work out that way. For one, I never got into shape. Blimpy Burger will do that to you. (I liked mine with a fried egg on top!) More important, I couldn't throw a football. Still can't. I can't throw one more than 20 yards. Sometimes I'll wind up with all my might and think to myself YES, this will be the throw that goes 80 yards. It usually lands a good 20 feet from my friend Jeremy's feet. I didn't walk onto the Michigan team. I didn't even come close to trying. I got a hernia instead. I transferred after one semester, which opened the door for a certain fellow by the name of Tom Brady. You're welcome, Dreamboat.

Ah, but the dream lives on. I want to be a QB not because I love the game, but because I like to imagine the money, and the drugs and the incredible amount of available poon at my disposal. Can't beat that. But mostly, I want to be a QB so I can talk like one.

You ever hear a QB bark orders at the line of scrimmage? Fuck, I want to do that. No wonder Peyton Manning takes forever to call a goddamn play. He's relishing the chance to bark out random words as only a quarterback can. You get to drop your voice an octave and get all raspy, and no one questions it. BLUE 59 RAZOR! BLUE 59 RAZOR! SET, HUT! HUUUUUUUUUT! HUT! God, that is sweet.

I played JV football for, like, 10 years. And I could always tell that the kid who played QB was fucking jazzed to start talking like that. ALABAMA! ALABAMA! READYSET! That was the quick snap. Awesome. Defensive players would get in on it too. If they saw a pass, you bet you your ass all of them would yell PASSSSSS! at the top of their lungs. Same with SCREEN!s. And if the offense was unbalanced? Holy shit, that was bliss. UNBALANCED! UNBALANCED! UNBALANCED, MOTHERFUCKER!

Sometimes they'd get fooled. Especially on REVERSE REVERSE HOLY FUCK IT'S A REVERSE! NO, WAIT! PASS! PASSSSSSSSS!

You see those old NFL Films of QB's at the line, and you can tell they just know they look badass doing that shit. I totally want to do that. The closest I ever came was when I worked as a busboy at an Austrian restaurant in Connecticut run by a man who was an obvious descendant of Hitler. Customers couldn't hear you in the kitchen, so I'd run in and shout out the orders in my best QB bark:

"TWO SOUP! TWO CAESAR! AND A MELON WITH PROSCIUTTO, BITCH!"

I was never asked back to that job. It wasn't the same as playing QB anyway. So I dream on. I'm not a quarterback. But I'll be coaching Pop Warner some day. And you can bet your ass I'm gonna show some dipshit nine-year-old how to talk like one. Then he'll outthrow me by 50 yards. Little prick.

The Games

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

Five Throwgasms

Bucs at Colts: Like Cher, you can't stop Jeff Garcia from making a red hot comeback. To beat the Colts, the Bucs will deploy Michael Pittman and Earnest Graham in the place of injured Cadillac Williams. Few people know that Earnest Graham is the son of Earnest Byner and Scottie Graham. Byner is one of the more skilled bottoms among NFL alumni.

Four Throwgasms

Chargers at Broncos: Records suggest this isn't the most compelling matchup of the week. But this is the last stand for the Chargers. I'm expecting them to show a lot of... what's the opposite of resilience? As for the Broncos, Jay Cutler's parents apparently got into quite the spat during last week's Colts game. Is this the week that they have angry hate sex in front of the Bronco Brat vendor? I'll have my fly unzipped just in case.

Seahawks at Steelers: It's a rematch! Seattle looks to redeem itself after a controversial loss in the Super Bowl two years ago. Will they get revenge? Well, of course not. I mean, Christ, this is just a regular season game. That other game was the goddamn Super Bowl. That opportunity has long since passed, Hawks fans. You lost. Forever. But hey, you'll always have Mudhoney!

Browns at Patriots: Is Derek Anderson for real? If so, it would be the final humiliation for Brady Quinn. God, I hope he's for real.

Three Throwgasms

Jets at Giants: Bridge vs. Tunnel! Winner gets a month's supply of Dep, Van Heusen dress shirts, and Lee Press-On Nails!

Bears at Packers
Lions at Redskins

Two Throwgasms:

Falcons at Titans: Michael Jenkins and Roddy White have somewhat flourished with Joey Harrington throwing them the ball. So Falcon fans, you can thank the Federal government now for sparing you from seven additional years of Michael Vick learning to "grasp" the pro-style offense.

Ravens at Niners: Dilfer's Revenge! Brian Billick, did you think you could just leave Trent Dilfer for dead and get away with it? Dilfer will have the last laugh on you and your stupid fucking straw hat! Only Greg Norman can get away with that look! Prepare for a taste of fire!

Jags at Chiefs
Panthers at Saints

One Throwgasm:

Dolphins at Texans: This game's uglier than the lady in the HughesNet ads. I'll bet anything the chick in those ads is the CEO's second wife.

Cowboys at Bills: Speaking of ads, you'll probably see a lot of the new Miller Lite campaign during this blowout. It features John McGinley as commissioner of the More Taste League. I'm not quite sure how improved taste works in a league format, or why that league would require oversight from a commissioner. All I know is that Miller Lite would be the Buffalo of this league: shitty, colorless, and with nothing but lonely fatasses supporting it.

Cardinals at Rams: Leinart vs. Warner. Blue state vs. Red state. Young vs. Old. Illegitimate children vs. Stepchildren. Douchebag vs. Tightass. Too long holding onto the ball vs. Much too long holding onto the ball. Scary diseases vs. Scary wife. Annoyingly shallow vs. Annoyingly deep. Whining to Internet reporters vs. Whining to talk radio. WHO YA GOT?!

Five Players Who Could Fuck Your Fantasy Team Over

Five Players You Might Want To Think About Starting, Only To Have Them Screw You Regardless Of What You End Up Choosing To Do

These sections are being discontinued. You're not going to listen to my start/sit recommendations. Hell, even I don't listen to them. Last week, I suggested starting Cedric Benson and Brian Griese. You didn't need to read that. That was extremely unnecessary. Frankly, the only reason I wrote these was because I'll read any start/sit section on any site, no matter how stupid the advice is. It's just a nice time-filler. But I'm sick of looking at the schedule and trying to randomly pick a player who I think has a decent matchup. That's way too much research, and I'm not doing research for the $3 a week that Gawker Media pays me, especially when I have to fill out so many forms in order to get said $3. You hear me, Denton? I read you're worth $280 million. Drew wants his piece of the pie, you rich fuck.

But I'm not here to shortchange you, darling reader. I have a replacement section ready to go, and here it is...

Pregame Song That Makes Me Want To Run Through A Goddamn Brick Wall

I'm not here to try and impress you with my musical taste. I still have four Jamiroquai songs on my iPod. I can't get enough of that crazy Jay Kay, with his funky beats and large headwear. He also pioneered the art of walking on conveyor belts in music videos. Suck on that, OK Go! Sometimes, when I've had one mai tai too many, I crank up "Cosmic Girl" and prance around my house in a pink silk teddy. I make a prettier girl than Oscar De La Hoya, that's for goddamn sure. In prep school, I took naps while playing the "Fantasia" soundtrack in my dorm room. Ever masturbate to "Night On Bald Mountain"? It's quite thrilling. I liked to pretend my penis was the winged demon coming out of the mountaintop. I think my penis makes a great villain. But I may be unique in that regard.

So no, I don't have the world's greatest taste in music, nor do I fancy myself as such. I'm not going to try and be Zach Braff here and dazzle you with my love of the Shins, or some other assemblage of twee buttfuckers. I am strictly here to bring you the RAWK. With lots of loud guitars (and double guitars!). This week's pregame song is "How to Handle A Rope" by Queens Of The Stone Age.

I spend a lot of time each day having to endure the children's music my daughter listens to. Shit like this, or this. After listening to this soul-crushing crap for two hours each day, I feel compelled to listen to the darkest, most sinister music I can find. And this song fits the bill. "I'd rather open up my wrist, let it go"? Oh yeah, baby. I am so THERE. The riff also fucking owns. It's like: duh-duh-duh-duh-DUH-duh-DUUUUUUUUUUUH-duh. When I imagine myself as a rock star while riding the elliptical, I play this riff spectacularly. I get lots of titflashes on that one.

Five Potential Key Injuries

&#8226; Cadillac Williams (rear suspension - HEY-O!)
&#8226; Tom Brady (bounty)
&#8226; Marvin Harrison (insecure sexuality)
&#8226; Alex Smith (shoulder goblin)
&#8226; Brian Leonard (white)

This Week's Suicide Pick

Last week's suicide pool pick of Dallas was correct. Off the board now are Seattle, Denver, Dallas and New England. We again pick a suicide pool team and a way of committing actual suicide. This week's pick: Green Bay, and trapping yourself under a portcullis. I'm a big portcullis fan. When I sell the right to the Jamboroo to Google for $250 million, my Scottish castle will have a portcullis in every doorway. I want to keep the help on their toes.

Gametime Snack Of The Week

Barbecue potato chips. Jesus, I could eat these things by the case. A lot of people throw out the bag of chips once there are nothing but crumbs left. DON'T! I'm a big believer in the mixture of chip crumbs and powdered barbecue residue at the bottom of every bag. I just pour it right into my mouth. It's good because it tastes like salt!

We never keep barbecue potato chips in the house, which is a wise move. But if I see a bowl at a picnic or something, I am on it like Vick on weed. I'll just camp out right next to the bowl. Sometimes I'll eat 10 at a time. They're crunchier in greater volume. Sometimes the BBQ coating gets trapped under my nails. That makes for an extra special treat later in the day.

Gametime Cheap Beer Of The Week

Keystone Light. Large companies like to spend millions of dollars in focus group research for the explicit purpose of determining what is known as a Brand Proposition. The Brand Proposition presents a specific problem the customer has that your product can help solve. Now, I find it hard to believe that thousands of focus group subjects all told the Keystone Brewing Company, "You know what my problem is? It's this darn bitter beer! It causes cartoonish facial deformities in both me and my dog!" I don't ever remember bitter beer face being such a horrible epidemic. And I find it even more incredulous that Keystone, which is a fucking disgusting beer, would be the one beer that could solve that problem. Drinking Keystone makes my asshole pucker.

Sunday Afternoon Film Of The Week For Rams Fans

One False Move, written by Billy Bob Thornton and starring Billy Bob Thornton in the role he was born to play: Shady Drug Dealer With Rattail.

Anyway, for those of you that haven't seen it, One False Move is a very light-hearted, feel-good road comedy, with a hilarious opening sequence where three drug dealers enter the house of a delinquent user. Do some wacky misunderstandings occur? You bet! A woman gets slapped until blood pours out of her mouth. A man gets suffocated with a plastic bag. And another woman, as she pleads for her life, is stabbed to death. It's a hoot!

Don't forget to stick around for the utterly devastating ending. It'll make you happy to be alive!

Gratuitous Simpsons Quote

"Oooh! Fiddledeedee! That will require a tetanus shot! I'm not going to swear... BUT I AM GOING TO KICK THIS DOGHOUSE DOWN!"

Halftime Masturbation Kit

&#8226; For the guys: Yvonne Strahovski, who plays the lead female role on that show Chuck. That's actually a stage name Yvonne is using. Her real name is Yvonne Strzechowski. Let me offer a quick word of advice to all you aspiring actresses out there. If you have an incredibly confusing, Krzyzewski-style Polish name and you want to use a stage name, don't half-ass it. Yvonne's stage name is barely different, and just as difficult to Google. Why not go with Yvonne Jones? Or Yvonne Firmness? Or Frenchie Johnson? Please make your new name as easy to search as possible for us American masturbators. Thanks.
&#8226; For the gals: A young and shirtless Peter Gallagher. Little known fact: when Peter Gallagher cocks an eyebrow, it shows up on air traffic control radar.

Blatantly False, ProFootballTalk-Style, Fred Edelstein-esque Rumor Of The Week

WE HEAR... that Vikings coach Brad Childress ALSO enjoys masturbating to "A Night On Bald Mountain."

Three Questions Sideline Reporters Should Ask But Won't

&#8226; "Matt Leinart! Paul Zimmerman here. Why badmouth your team over a glass of Sauvignon Blanc? Why not a Pinot Grigio? I know wine!"
&#8226; "Eli, is Matt Ufford as smug and self-assured in person as I've heard?"
&#8226; "Tony Romo! Michele Tafoya. Will you bear me a second child while I'm still drunk?"

Your Motivational Pregame Quote for The Weekend

"See, you sat in the right seat because, when the show don't be funny, I take my dick out and piss. So this is called the Garden Row."
-Richard Pryor

Enjoy the games, everyone.