Yeah, these two kids are all buddy-buddy now.

Upon talking to Theismann, Kimmel clarified his Monday night crack: "I was not making fun of Joe Theismann. I was just making everyone else in the booth uncomfortable."

Theismann admitted he was watching "CSI" at the time of the controversial quip, but said he got a chuckle of it when he heard about it afterwards. Joe also made a correction to Kimmel's comment, saying, "The steam was coming out of my nose, not my ears."

See, now there's something else they have in common: They both made everyone uncomfortable while in the "Monday Night Football" booth. Maybe Kimmel can use Theismann has a strike-breaking writer. Sure, Theismann didn't cross the picket line during the NFL strike, but hey: Times is tough.

Joe Theismann And Jimmy Kimmel Make Peace On LA Radio [Sports By Brooks]

Dumpy talk show host Jimmy Kimmel's banning from Monday Night Football based on what MNF producer Jay Rothman called his "classless" and "disappointing" comments is quite a monumental achievement, especially since it appeared he had a cozy, collegial relationship with the WWL. Whether it was ESPY-hosting gigs or his consistent shout-outs from the Sports Feller, Kimmel appeared to be on the network's good people-list. That is until Monday Night Football, when he playfully tweaked Joe Theismann and made some Brady-model-impregnation joke. Faster than you could say "Tirico Tits!", Kimmel was vanquished.

I understand that in life and especially in work there are lines that needn't be crossed (really, I do), but this seems excessive — even coming from a company who doesn't allow its employees to take home up-rooted trees to be re-planted. But a banning a comedian who works at your own network, who gets paid (essentially) by the same employer, is harsh. I have experienced the humiliation from an utterly dumbfounding banning.

Here's the situation: I was hanging out at my friend Rich's house with a couple other friends. His parents weren't home. We were watching the videotape of "Fanny Hill," a low-budget porno that someone had secretly taped the night before off cable. I went into his bathroom to go piss, but realized that I was still sporting an erection that can only occur when an 11-year-old just watched a grainy porno featuring an ample-chested redheaded woman getting boinked in a haystack for the first time in his life. The sucker wouldn't go down, yet the urine was coming. I did not have time to take the requisite three steps back nor control the trajectory of the stream. I hit the top of the toilet. The walls. The rug. Underneath the bowl. By time this unholy yellow geyser had dissipated, the bathroom was ruined. I couldn't have made a more disgusting mess had I walked in there blindfolded and hurled a pee-filled water balloon.

Apparently, my clean-up abilities were also a bit off. And apparently, the purple hand-towels with the flowers were not to be used to sop-up such dreadful things and, if they were used for that purpose, they were not to be sloppily re-hung on the wall while still damp. Rich's mother came home later that evening, long after I'd left, and, terrified, yelled to her son "Who Pissed All Over The Bathroom?" It didn't take long to figure out that I was the culprit, being that I had nervously left his house in a panic soon after the incriminating accidental explosion. The next day my mom received a phone call from Rich's mother. Between the afternoon of conspicuous "Fanny Hill"-watching (she found out about that as well after the tape was left in the VCR), her urine-soaked guest bathroom and ruined hand-towels, she relayed to my mother that I was no longer a welcome as a guest in their home. I was a reckless savage. In fact, one could probably categorize these actions as a little disappointing and classless.

But Jimmy Kimmel? Not so much. But his predicament sends a strict message to all future guests stepping foot inside that hallowed booth: compose yourselves accordingly or risk permanent banishment.

So this week, I'm flicking Joe Theismann's inflamed prostate, pissing all over Jay Rothman's hand towels and placing odds on the next guest to be permanently booted from Monday Night Football this year.

Vas Deferens!

John Elway, October 29th, Green Bay at Denver: 3/1

You can't broadcast a Monday Night Football game from Denver and not have John Elway come up for a visit. Or could you? If Elway doesn't sufficiently promote the Arena League and starts warbling about the halcyon days of Vance Johnson and Karl Mecklenburg, well, there'll be a problem. Jay Rothman's got orders from the Bristol mafia. It doesn't matter that you're a beloved Hall of Fame quarterback. It's pay-to-play here, bitch. So, beat it, chompers.

Chris Cornell, November 12th, San Francisco at Seattle: 4/1

Candles burnin' yesterday, somebody's best friend died... shut it! The brooding rocker will make a brief appearance in the booth in an attempt to promote his new solo album, but be forced into a conversation by Kornheiser about what it was like growing up a Seahawks fan, Steve Largent and what it was like to live with Andrew Wood. (Kornheiser's a huuuge Mother Love Bone fan.) This will piss Cornell off who doesn't like to talk about his grunge-y past, setting off an uncomfortable silence in the booth broken only by a muffled cough from Jaworski. Jay Rothman's a Tad fan anyway. Poof.

Arthur Blank, December 10, New Orleans at Atlanta: 2/1

Blank will be promised some booth-time hob-knobbing with crew in exchange for a few juicy details about what's been going on with Michael Vick (Have you spoken? How's he feeling?). If Blank doesn't give Mike Tirico anything significant or revealing, or starts complaining about Sal Paolantonio sleeping on his porch the last month, then not only will he be tossed from the booth, but the Falcons will be left off the Monday Night Football schedule forever. Even if they win the next four Super Bowls and give every dog trapped in a shelter to orphanages, it's not happening. Rules are rules. Go shave your shnoz-stache.

Kendra Wilkinson and Hugh Hefner, December 24, Denver at San Diego: 1/1

Although she's a proud Chargers fan and equipped with heavenly jugs, she still has to ditch the old man if she ever wants to get back in the booth. Look, everybody's talked to Hefner nine million times, and that stupid robe of his is doing nothing right now but concealing his portable catheter. Sure he's lived every man's fantasy life, but we know that. Now he just smells like tomato soup and moldy slippers. And Kendra? Come on, you're pretty and all that, but you're still dumber than a box of mongoloids. Mostly everyone in that booth would rather listen to Emmit Smith recite Lewis Carroll's "Jabberwocky" poem than have you vapidly giggle through two plays. Now, tits out.

Kimmel, for his part, seems befuddled by the whole matter.

"Technically, couldn't you say Joe Theismann has also been banned from Monday Night Football?" Kimmel told SI.com in a phone interview from Los Angeles. "If he showed up, they probably would not let him in. I was hoping to get banned from a casino first, but I suppose it's satisfying in a way to be banned from any television show. I don't know what I did exactly but apparently it was horrific."

We don't see what the big deal is either; it's not like Kimmel said, "Boy, aren't you guys glad that Theismann guy is gone? What a douche that guy is, right, Tony?" Though we will say that the mental image of Joe Theismann showing up at the MNF booth, and ESPN security not letting him in, is a quite amusing one.

Monday Night Kickoff [SI.com]
MNF Still Haunts Joe Theismann's Corpse [Deadspin]

Kimmel's quote: "And we welcome Joe Theismann watching from his living room with steam coming out of his ears." You know, we wouldn't mind seeing that, actually.

Everyone Is Piling On Joe Theismann Now [Awful Announcing]

But, as it turns out, not every one of Kimmel's jokes made it into the final telecast. In fact, our spies inside the ESPYs — and there is no more noble endeavor than infiltrating the ESPYs; our spies keep America safe! — say that some of Kimmel's more potentially offensive jokes were actually cut from the final program, even though they were delivered to the live audience.

We've gotten a hold of the excised jokes, and we can say this: Only ESPN could possibly find these offensive enough to strip out. Apparently, they think we have the most delicate ears in all of cable television ... or they just wanted to make sure not to offend anyone who might want to pick up a gift bag. Certainly, the days of Norm MacDonald sneaking on an O.J. joke are behind us.

After the jump, Kimmel's jokes that ESPN cut from the final ESPY telecast.

———————————

Tonight's show focuses primarily on the accomplishments of athletes on the field - but there are so many great things going on off the field too.

Michael Vick, as you've probably heard, is picking up where Bob Barker left off, to try to help control the pet population.

I think that's great.

He's also been doing some wonderful things for people in his local community - just this last weekend, he let the police have a treasure hunt in his backyard.

———————————

Ron Artest was also investigated for cruelty to animals this year. This was actually a scary case - they claim - and, of course, these are just allegations - that he forced two of his dogs to listen to his entire rap album.

———————————

Kobe was here tonight, but about halfway down the red carpet, he asked to be traded to another awards show.

Right now, Don Cornelius is presenting him with a Soul Train Award.

———————————

David Beckham comes to LA this month. I have to say I have never seen my gardener so excited.

David Beckham got 250 million dollars to pay for the Galaxy. It's a lot of money, but they're hoping he can do for soccer what Wayne Gretzky did for hockey...which means in 15 years, no one will be watching soccer either.

———————————-

I want to congratulate Greg Oden - the number one pick in the NBA Draft.

Greg is here tonight. How can you be 19 years old? You look like Grady from Sanford and Son.

Don't people usually have their tonsils removed before they turn 40? You may have heard Greg was diagnosed with tonsillitis. But what you might not know is he got a second opinion this morning and it turns out they're not tonsils at all ... they're dinosaur eggs.

———————————-

Well - this is going to be a fun night. I don't know if I'll be able to fill Lance Armstrong's shoes, but at the very least, I'm pretty sure I can fill his scrotum. Figuratively, of course.

One of the funniest moments, in my opinion, in history happened at the ESPY Awards. In 1998, the ceremony was hosted by Norm MacDonald, post SNL, pre-Dirty Work, who spent most of the night dancing around controversial topics and went for the soft jokes until Peyton Manning won the award for college player of the year. After Peyton left the stage, MacDonald congratulated him and unleashed perhaps the gutsiest joke ever: Manning, he said, had won the Heisman Trophy which nobody could ever take away from him unless he killed "his wife and a waiter." Groans. Silence. The pan of the dumbstruck crowd (many of which would probably be considered O.J. Simpson's peers) was stunning. By his expression, it appeared that if Emmitt Smith had a gun, he would have shot Norm MacDonald right in the face at that moment — and he probably would've received a standing ovation.

Most of the time, the ESPYs don't run like this. They're a well-oiled combination of every major televised awards show, except most of its guests will be wearing Under Armour undeneath their tuxedos. (Click. Clack.) On July 15, ESPN will air the ceremony (that actually takes place on July 11) with Jimmy Kimmel and LeBron James hosting this year. One of these men is positioned to be the most recognizable face in professional sports; Kimmel, on the other hand, is known for his milquetoast talk show, inexplicably having regular sex with Sarah Silverman and indirectly launching the writing career of the floppy-haired Midwestern boy who oversees this Web site. Sure, Kimmel can be funny sometimes, but he's also been known to toe the company line when necessary. And most of this night will be centered around weak steroid jokes, a few minutes of self-deprecating fat-white-guy-hosting-a-sports-awards pap and wacky shoutouts to the athletes in the crowd. (Hey everybody, it's the Flying Tomato!)

But there are four full days in the editing room, so most of the really good jokes will be cleaned up and all of the gaffes will wiped away for Disney-fied consumption. Hey everybody, it's the Flying Tomato.

So this week, I'm putting on my Jim Valvano mask, sprucing up Dan Patrick's resume and placing odds on what will be cut from this year's ESPY Awards.

In the midnight hour, she cried...

Protests of the Arthur Ashe Award Winner: 3/1

This year's Arthur Ashe Award winners are Trevor Ringland and Dave Cullen, two Northern Ireland fellas who somehow brought together Catholic and Protestant children and got them to play basketball without biting each other's noses off. I'm sure there are plenty of other worthy winners, all of whom thought their unifying sports team was a lock for the award. It wouldn't be surprising to see a front row full of Iraqi roller derby players or Haitian bocce ballers vocalizing their disgust. We may see them waving their flags in the front row and booing, but we will not see them being tazered by Norby's henchmen. (Ed. Note: Norby!)

Stage-Storming After the "Best Female Athlete With a Disability" Category: 5/1

This is sure to be one of the most hotly contested categories as Amy Palmeiro, Jessica Long, Stephani Victor and Esther Vergeer battle it out for both the award and the coveted Female Athlete With a Disability I'd Like to Fuck status. (FAWDILF, if you will.) Problem is, this is so emotional that one of these ladies will probably attack the stage decorations just like Timmy Commeford from Rage Against the Machine did after Limp Bizkit won the 2000 VMA for "Best Rock Video." Their legs may not work, but these gals can climb for days.

"We Are Marshall" Getting Snubbed for Best Movie: 3/1

Anytime an awards show is put in the hands of the voters, there's bound to be an upset victory. Will Ferrell's fans may come out in droves to vote for "Talladega Nights" or Vince Papale's Italian Army may completely put "Invincible" in the top slot. And you can't underestimate the power of Terrence Howard fans, as "Pride" could also sneak in this slot. (Whoop dat trick. Git 'im!). Any of these outcomes would completely screw up the plans for ESPN to have Matthew McConaghey get at least 14 minutes of screen time on this telecast. There'll be a recount and a reshooting of the awards so "We Are Marshall" can triumph and they can have McConaghey and the surviving members of the team come for the contrived emotional moment they so desperately desire. Picture McConaghey doing the "We Are!" chant the same way Jamie Foxx did his pukey Ray Charles "Heeey!"-thing after he won the Oscar.

Best Bowler Award: 1/1

Eh, I'm thinking they threw this in there because of the lucrative PBA contract ESPN signed, but I think the "Best Bowler" category probably had its own ceremony about a week ago — you know, like, how they do the Oscar's boring "Best Audio Mastering for a Short Foreign Cartoon" presentations in a remote location. Because of this, poor Norm Duke, Doug Kent and Pete Weber won't even be able to attend the ESPYs. It'll just be a taped broadcast from the ceremony that was held at a Roanoke Rodeway Inn with the award for Best Bowler being presented by ... Richard Karn.

For all the talk of Brett Favre and Matt Hasselbeck and a dogged night from Shaun Alexander, the main impression we took from last night's MNF Seahawks' win over the Packers was: SNOW! Screw Thanksgiving: We know the holidays are really upon us when it's snowing real hard and people are falling over and you can see everyone's breath and ... aw, man, how happy are we that Chicago's going to be hosting playoff games in January?

The game itself was rather entertaining, for a mismatch in late November, and the Favre love wasn't as overwhelming as we feared it would be; the famous late-father Raiders game was only mentioned once, and not in too nauseating of detail.

However, a note on Jimmy Kimmel, who was the Celebrity Guest in the booth this week. We have our own history with Kimmel, but we have no particularly animus or affinity toward him. But last night, in about five minutes, he singlehandedly desconstructed and destroyed the Tony Kornheiser experiment. Kimmel was funnier than Kornheiser, more knowledgeable about football than Kornheiser and, in the real moment that mattered, more willing to take on Joe Theismann than Kornheiser (which is the real crime). After yet another ridiculous Theismann statement, Kornheiser remained silent until Kimmel, who couldn't help himself, said, "Well, I don't know about that, Joe." And then, as if awakened, Kornheiser said, "Yeah! What about that, Joe?" And then Theismann had to backtrack. If the late-night talk show thing doesn't work out, we'll nominate Kimmel to take over in the MNF booth. OK, him or Christian Slater.

(Getty Images Photo)

A reader sends in this picture from Sports Illustrated's All-Star Game photo gallery. In case you can't tell by the personalized jersey, that's Harold Reynolds giving a big ole hug to Sarah Silverman, extremely funny comic and reason every Jewish single male in the country has a dart board with Jimmy Kimmel's face on it. Here's hoping Silverman got away from Harold faster than she got away from Joe Franklin.

In Case You Missed It ... [SI.com]
Quiet Depravity [The New Yorker]
Sarah Silverman Rapes American Comedy [Slate]

(Photo by: Jamie Squire/Getty Images)

Before I left last night to attend Jimmy Kimmel's green room after-party show, I was instructed that it was "time to let loose a little bit" by some of my, ahem, superiors over there at Gawker Media. I wasn t quite sure if they meant me in this case, or Deadspin, considering drunk Ben Roethlisberger has pretty much taken care of any thoughts that matters were getting stuffy around these parts.

After two days filled with nothing but fleeting hopes of doing something productive or blogworthy during my stay here in Detroit, I finally did something last night which would hopefully satisfy many of my job requirements which were, if I remember correctly, "find some interesting places where athletes and sports journalists will hang out." Then attack them on film and let them beat the crap out of me. Or something. Well, it didn't quite turn out that way.

Last night s Jimmy Kimmel green room after-party was, sadly, kind of lame. It s a shame that I m saying this. It completely proves how jaded I am. I bitch about not being invited to places, and now I m complaining about a place that offered up free top shelf booze, phylo-wrapped appetizers and the chance to see Bobcat Goldthwait in person. What have I become?

However, there are some amusing anecdotes to pass along, plus scintillating pictures of David Alan Grier dancing with a harem of women, a close-up shot of some cake and further explanation of the following short film, after the mighty jump.

Deadspin Video: Bobcat And Company ...

The after-party was at the Detroit Athletic Club, which I m told is a very haughty-taughty country club in downtown Detroit. "WASP-y" was the word most often thrown around.

However, in the Jimmy Kimmel green room, well-heeled elitism is left behind; the stuffy whiteguy sponsors from Pontiac were having a great time having a group of black women climb all over them. (Apparently, automotive executives are like rock stars in D-town. So we re told.) And David Alan Grier seemed to have no problem getting various, midriff-baring blond women come over and throw themselves at him. (Apparently, David Alan Grier is like a rock star in D-town as well.)

So, I was optimistic about this evening. After a challenging two days of uneventful blogging, I finally attended an event that has the possibility for something extraordinary to happen. Some of the PR people were getting me excited. I heard rumblings — even though, at 8:35 p.m., the party was a little light on notable guests —- there was a possibility of a second wave of superstar athlete celebrities coming in around 11 p.m., after they left Magic Johnson s event. Yes, yes, I was told — Chad Johnson, Michael Irvin and a few other high-profile stars were said to be stopping by. (Man, do you think Magic s pissed that his career trajectory has left his parties as pop-in stops during Super Bowl week? You can almost see him begging Irvin to call him later as he and C.J. slide out the door.)

Regardless, I was going to stay put, based on the off-off chance that there were actually some notable sports people arriving. But as time lurched by and the not-so-bustling party began to get thinner and thinner, it was obvious that Wednesday night was not the night to be at the Jimmy Kimmel green room after-party. Maybe it was because everybody was saving their energy for the rest of the week - or maybe it s that, well, these are the only types of parties I can get into because I m completely fucking lame.

However, we did get the opportunity to actually see the Jimmy Kimmel stage set-up at the Gem Theater. (Yeah, I know this is not a huge deal, but, dude, I had to find something to do or else I would ve stood there and gotten bombed on Jimmy Kimmel Live Bacardi Limon Mojitos — which were on the menu — all night. That would be a really shitty post.) I asked several people who seemed like they had something to do with the show if it would be okay to get on stage and take a quick video of me doing a cartwheel, but apparently, ABC has strict legal policies about such activities.

After that failed experiment, it was back outside to the various levels of the DAC watching the crowd dissipate even more. Pretty soon it was just a couple of us and Bobcat Goldthwait trying to cobble together an interesting thing to get him to say into the JVC. I took a moment to look at Bobcat, dressed in a Russian hat, thinking to myself, "Well, this is ... something." That dawned on me, anyway, as I stood there practically bullying him to "Say something in the Police Academy voice."

Sadly, I have a feeling Bobcat Goldthwait did not read a lot of Jacque Derrida while developing the vocal calisthenics required to perfect the voice of Zed.

By 10:30 it was pretty much official - there were not going to be any athletes attending the after-party this evening. However, Friday night, there should be a ton of people around because, well, that s when evvvvverybody rolls into D-town. I was told I would be allowed back any night for the rest of the week.

Well, I ll come back - with a salami football, no less - and see if Mr. Kimmel s after party could turn out to be everything you and I - we - would hope.

It s not that surprising that press credentials for media day are at such a premium, but getting the opportunity to mingle with celebrities at night during parties is just as selective, if not more so. I just want some free booze, for cripes sake; what else did I come here for? It's those bastard PR people that have made all the coverage less interesting so far — and my life extremely complicated. Yes, they do want media coverage of their Super Bowl events, but it must be good coverage. Vapid fashion magazines like Life and Style with limited reach to a sports audience are good; sports sites such as this one are not invited though they'd inevitably get more exposure letting idiots like me into the event. Dumbasses.

This must explain why I have yet to receive my credentials for tonight s Cadillac MVP Dinner, with former Super Bowl MVPs like Roger Staubach, Terry Bradshaw and Steve Young, at my new favorite place, the RenCen. I really wanted to get a piggy back ride from Jim Plunkett. Instead, I ll be heading to the Jimmy Kimmel Green Room "after party" tonight. I can t get tickets to the show, however, because the shows for Jimmy Kimmel are sold out this week. Apparently, Detroit loves its Kimmel. Take that however you want.

I have been deemed worthy of attending some parties, for now ... and I've even grabbed a cellphone number who, while not inherently a "sports personality," is still fun to call. After the jump, the full list of Super Bowl Parties.

• The Miami Ink XL

Date: Friday, February 3.
Celebrities invited/attending:
Justin Chambers & Isaiah Washington (from ABC s "Grey s Anatomy"); Terry Crews (from UPN s "Everybody Hates Chris"); Former Heavyweight Champion Lennox Lewis; Outkast s BIG BOI; Detroit rap sensation HUSH; rap artist Obie Trice; Grammy-nominated recording artists GOO GOO DOLLS
Odds of me attending: 2/1
Odds of me interviewing the Goo Goo Dolls: 70/1

• Penthouse Super Bowl Party

Date: Saturday, February 4.
Celebrities: Snoop Dogg, Tommy Lee, Penthouse chicks
Odds of me attending: 5/1
Odds of me getting shot: 2/1

• Jenna Jameson s Super Bowl Party

Date: Friday, February 3.
Celebrities/Athletes: Jenna jameson, lots of rap stars and former athletes, lots of former heavy metal stars, porn stars, silicone boobs.
Odds of me attending: 10/1
Odds of me seeing Brokeback Mountain at the Main Art Theater with girlfriend and her family in Royal Oak instead: 1/10

• Cadillac Celebrity Go Kart Race:

Date: Saturday, 12 p.m.
: Jimmy Kimmel, Adrian Grenier, Sarah Silverman, Jessica fucking Alba
Odds of me attending: 1/1
Odds of me wasting full hour of JVC tape filming Jessica Alba: 1/3

• Maxim s Detroit Rock City Party

Date: Saturday, February 4.
Celebrities/Athletes: Oh, everybody.
Odds of me attending: 1/1
Odds of me getting drunk and breaking the JVC: 1:2
Odds of me being sober enough to post the following morning: 32/1

So, that s my itinerary the rest of the week. And some of these PR people are being real nasty pricks about letting me into these events. They know who they are. I realize I m not an important person, but must you make me feel such like a piece of shit for requesting access to your events? Must you? MUST YOU?

Some of their assistants realize this as well, so they re willing to make amends, all in the spirit of the little guy. Alas, we ve found a mole who understands some of our concerns. And they have come through. Here, for all the internet to see, is the newly single hotel heiress Nicky Hilton s cell phone number:

917-929-0223

There you go. Make life more complicated for the pricks of the world.