In the never-ending war between your girth and the wasitband of your pants, I assume that your expanding gut scored a major battlefield victory yesterday. We're fighting the belts at the dinner table, so that we don't have to fight for tiny seats at the movie theater. Or something.

So what was the best thing that you ate yesterday? Did your family discover some new and exciting way to sear turkey flesh? An exotic side dish involving whiskey? Did science finally reveal a way to make peas less disgusting? Share your dinnertime war stories/recipes below. The best part of the holidays are the memories of all those foods long past. Oh, and family I guess. If you're into that.

Honorable Mention: Pumpkins. Your loved ones may have been cruelly slaughtered and mashed into pie crusts, but rest assured that their sacrifice was not in vain.

It's probably the most famous father-son catch scene of all time, even if it's impossible for Roy Hobbs to be so otherworldly at baseball and so terribly uncoordinated to have a catch with his son. (Update: Yeah, I managed to mix up the two movies. My bad. In my defense, it's Sunday.)

Speaking of good fathers, we're on a Damir Dokic kick lately. Remember him? He's the father of Jelena Dokic. He claims that hitting her was "for her sake." He also threatened to bomb the Australian embassy in Belgrade. He was once kicked out of the U.S. Open at Flushing Meadow for arguing that a piece of salmon was overpriced at $10, even though he had a food voucher and he didn't have to pay for the food. Sounds like he belongs at Bethpage Black.

Roy Hobbs, as American as apple pie. Damir Dokic, not so much.

Because it's Sunday, it's Father's Day and that usually means it's the U.S. Open and Tiger's wearing red. And he's winning. Which made us think of Earl. OK, this one might be a bit more pointless.

What do you do on Father's Day? You barbecue. And make burgers and hot dogs. I found this great picture of barbecue chicken nachos, but it wasn't big enough, so gooey hamburger it is.

Slothing on the La-Z-Boy: A Father's Day tradition unlike any other.

*****

Thanks for your continued support of Deadspin, especially when you're not reading on Father's Day. Back tomorrow.

Noted chicken separator Pilgrim's Pride Corp. filed for bankruptcy protection on December 1, which in these troubled times is not that unusual. The problem is that they supply roughly one quarter of the 24 billion "wing segments" that were eaten last year. This development has severely stunted chicken wing production and driven up prices across the country.

Don't be alarmed, says the National Chicken Council—there are plenty of wings to go around. But of course they would say that. Everyone knows the NCC is in the pocket of the Illuminati. But the Bureau of Unverifiable Statistics says that 5% of our yearly wing consumption happens on Super Bowl weekend, so if you don't think that the upcoming national holiday is in jeopardy, then you're just a slave to the system, man.

Will There Be Enough Chicken Wings Available Super Bowl Sunday? [Sports Rubbish]

More than 50 people submitted their favorite FJM posts. Some were short, one sentence FJMisms. Some offered links and some listed their favorite posts accompanied by FJM-style commentary underneath. (Unfortunately, these submissions were not that clever so they'll be left out. No need to embarrass anyone.)

But reader Sherrie V. probably said it best though:" How do you choose among so many examples of brilliance? (OMFG!)"

Indeed. I gave it a shot anyway. After the jump, some of your favorite FJM posts of all time.

Victoria J. nominates "Meditations on Jeter":

Most people know him as the late character actor Michael Jeter's little brother, but to me he'll always be the only baseball player whose tears cure malaria in whales. There's been a lot of talk about Jeter in the last few days. Men who deal with numbers have declared him overrated, almost to the point that many are now saying he's underrated. This discussion bores me. How can you overrate or underrate a glorious sunset? A sunset just is. That's Jeter.

Jay G. nominates "12 Minutes of Hell With Colin Cowherd":

Let's play a nerd-game, Colin. Which is to say, let's "think" with our "brains." What if Horace Grant retired, and then didn't make it into the HOF, and then revealed, in a tell-all book and several appearances on like "I'm a Celebrity, Get me Out of Here!" and the like, that he, Horace, was a huge meth dealer in the NBA for 17 years and that the NBA has a massive meth problem. I just don't think that he would be inducted into the Basketball HOF. CC has two arguments — Canseco is famous so he should be in, and anyone who dominates or is "relevant" should be in. Ironically, he then says "infamous is infamous," which only serves to remind us that what Canseco is, in fact, in retrospect, is "infamous." Which is why his "fame" is not exactly what the HOF is looking for in terms of permanent membership.

Clyde R. nominates "Everyone Ready?":

Something new in the Joe-vs.-"Moneyball" war just occurred to me: Joe has not considered the idea that the book contains analysis by people other than its author. In other words, if Billy Beane were the author of the book and not its primary subject — and those of you diehard Joe-vs.-"Moneyball" war fans will no doubt remember several interviews with Joe where he did indeed think that was the case — would he read it then? Beane played on the field. He satisfies Joe's insane demand that only former players can "teach" us anything. Jeremy Brown, Jason Giambi, Scott Hatteberg — nearly all of the book's subjects played the game. So this ridiculous line of thought on Joe's part is actually more meaningless than I previously believed, because Joe doesn't even know enough about the book to understand that it is not just Michael Lewis pontificating about baseball. It is actual players discussing the game Joe loves and refuses to learn about. I thus would like to invite someone, next Tuesday, to make this point in a question to Joe, and then we'll start some real fireworks, by gum.

Sherrie V. nominates the "Joe Chat Marathon" from July 27th:

Here are things that could tarnish Barry Bonds's reputation, at this point:

1. Committing double murder of Tom Brokaw and Dame Judi Dench
2. Defecting to Afghanistan, joining Taliban, leading Afghan baseball team to Gold medal over American team in Beijing
3. Running high-end dog fighting ring where the dog fights take place on Princess Diana's grave
4. Inventing time travel but instead of traveling back in time to kill Hitler using it to go back to 1989 in order to start taking steroids earlier than he originally did

Things that will not make a motherfletching dent in Barry Bonds's reputation:

1. Being labeled a "hired gun" by playing for the Yankees

"Head Bee Guy" nominated "Pags":

In the pantheon of smugly ignorant acronym use, this takes the cake. LLBean is a terrible "nerdy acronym" joke for many reasons: like, that it's not an acronym. And that it appears in an article attacking Billy Beane, which gives one the impression the author is too dumb to think of two different things at the same time. FYI is boring. SOB is a term not heard much by people under fifty. And the whole thing — the collection of five acronyms; two real, three unfunny and fake — is referred to as a "system of analysis." Pags, seriously bro, if you had any idea how sophisticated their actual systems of analysis were...dude. Bro. Your effing head would explode.

Jesse A. nominated "It's Cool":

I just want to announce here on this blog, that if any baseball analyst of any kind tells me that "you really have to watch Jason Bartlett play every day to understand how much he means to this team," and that same analyst is found drowned at the bottom of my hot tub the next morning, and I am found standing upon that corpse, in the hot tub, wearing my trunks and a hoodie and just relaxing and smoking a joint, and maybe ordering a pizza or something, and instructing the delivery guy to come in through the gate because I'm in the back standing on a body in my hot tub — if all of that happens, I would really appreciate if someone could meet me outside, by my hot tub, and float me a few dollars for the pizza, because I will be in no mood to get off of that corpse, or get out of the hot tub for that matter, and plus I will probably have forgotten to bring some money out to the hot tub with me.

Reader Nicholas E. nominated "Bruuuuuuuuuuuuuuce":

If you could go back in time and take Nap Lajoie into a room after Rube Waddell K'd him on three pitches and show him a glowing box with a video replay of the at bat, he would call you a demon, slit your throat, tear out his eyes, and generally freak the fuck out. It's a different game, these days.

David V.(and, oh, 12 others) nominated "Honestly One Of The Weirdest Things I've Ever Read":

Sorry — so, the complaint here is that baseball fans talk about baseball too much? Maybe that's because baseball exists and is interesting. Unlike — to give one example off the top of my head that I just like pulled out of nowhere as a thing that neither exists nor is interesting — superbike racing.

I can think of two reasons superbike fans don't go to sports bars, drink beers, and talk loudly about superbike racing:

1. There are only two superbike racing fans in the entire world, and finding a bar exactly halfway between Pittsburgh and Manitoba is tough.

2. If you went to a sports bar and talked loudly about superbike racing, the other people in the bar, who are probably talking about actual, real sports that actually exist and about which people care, would tell you to shut the fuck up.

Happy Thanksgiving [Posting and Toasting]

Yes, what you would've been bidding on — had I given you enough time to check the couch cushions and chill the ketchup — was a mint condition sourdough grilled cheese sandwich that Barry Bonds' 756 home run ball bounced off of. Or as the seller so eloquently put it: "quite possibly baseball's most sought after grilled cheese sandwich." Touché.

And oh, yeah, Bonds' record-breaking 756th home run ball was also auctioned off yesterday. Its final price went at $752,467, well above most of the estimates by memorabilia experts. To which all I can say is, "Rip. Off." They know you can't eat a ball, right?

Barry Bonds 756 Home Run Ball Grilled Cheese Sandwich [eBay]
Going, Going — Gone! [San Fransisco Chronicle]