Drew Magary's Thursday Afternoon NFL Dick Joke Jamboroo runs every Thursday during the NFL season. Find more of his stuff at his Twitter feed.
I've seen on any number of message boards retard fans who had this to say about Vick taking apart the Redskins last week: "Well, I'd never want him on MY team. I'd be ashamed if he were my quarterback." If you find someone who says this in person, you walk up to them and you rub your scrotum against them. I fucking hate uppity sports fans who have some kind of imaginary, subjective criteria for what kind of athlete they deem acceptable for their team and which they don't. It's bullshit. BULLSHIT. If you're into sports because you want athletes to be good people, stop watching fucking sports. Because no team at no time will be 100% stocked with perfect, moral citizens of the universe. You just happen to know more about Mike Vick's transgressions than you do most any other athlete's. If you're a Giants fan and you say you'd never have Vick on your team, you have no fucking clue if there's some prick already ON the Giants who is an even worse person than Vick, someone who hasn't at all paid for his sins. Mario Manningham could rape goats. I don't know. How the fuck would I know?
Anyone who applies this sort of ethical standard to pro sports is a retard. It's professional sports. It's not even some cockamamie "amateur" enterprise like the NCAA or the Olympics, which are both terminally fucked because of the same kind of hypocrisy. I don't root for players on my team to stay faithful to their wives and take cancer babies to the State Fair. I root for them to do a job. Anything outside of that purview is pointless and unrealistic. It's a transparent exercise in cheap self-esteem boosting. It's basically a way of deluding yourself into thinking you're somehow a good person by saying you'll never root for Vick, or that your team would NEVER dare employ such a horrible monster on its squad. It's all a load of shit. If Vick were on my team right now, I'd buy 800 pieces of Vick memorabilia, even the commemorative #7 Valtrex travel pack. The fuck do I care? He's destroying the world right now. I don't give a shit if he took a dog and chopped its dick off with a pizza cutter. I already know he's a moron who's liable to do something idiotic at any second. But ANY player on the squad could also be that way. I don't know them. I CAN'T know them. And to assume otherwise makes you a swollen dickhole.
Before we get into this week's Jamboroo, how about a hearty round of applause for Katie Baker filling in last week? Quite a talented lady.
In other news, the bye weeks are over! WOOHOO! Fuck yeah! SUCK MY DELICIOUS BALLS, UNEVEN SCHEDULING!
All games in the Jamboroo are evaluated for sheer watchability on a scale of 1 to 5 Throwgasms.
Giants at Eagles: AJ Daulerio, who is an Eagles fan, started Joe Flacco over Mike Vick last week. Now Flacco did just fine. But really, we should all collectively slap Daulerio in the cock for being dumb enough to bench Vick.
The Giants' lights going out last week reminds me of all the times I've driven by empty pro stadiums in my lifetime that left their lights on even when a game wasn't being played. I swear I've driven by any number of college and pro stadiums where they keep the lights on at night, for no reason at all. Just sucking up kilowatts so that they can say LOOK AT THIS BIG EMPTY STADIUM! I really hope this still isn't practiced. Seems extraordinarily wasteful.
Colts at Patriots: There is nothing more aggravating than watching the other team throw a deep ball, seeing your DB still hasn't turned his head, screaming at him to turn his head, and then watching as he fails to turn his head and gets an easy PI call. You know the flag is coming five seconds before that prick does. How can you not turn your head? What do you think the receiver is staring at in the sky? A fucking stray balloon? HEAD ON A SWIVEL, FUCKO.
Raiders at Steelers: A friend of mine's wife is due to give birth tomorrow, though almost no birth ever happens on the projected due date. Anyway, if your wife is also due to eject a child out of her legs at this time, I have a piece of advice for you: SHUT THE FUCK UP. Seriously, once you get to that hospital, don't say SHIT unless spoken to. You know how women can crave your love and attention until you've lavished too much upon them, and then they back away and tell you you're smothering them and make you feel like an asshole? Yeah, well that's amplified 100 times during pregnancy. Pregnant women don't like being asked if they're "okay" a million times while a baby is busy kicking their uterus out. They find that counterproductive. Just clear out of the way, brother.
Texans at Jets: Reader Tim sends in this ancient Latin verse from the poet Catullus:
I will sodomize you and face-fuck you,
Cock-sucker Aurelius and catamite Furius,
You who think, because my verses
Are delicate, that I am modest.
For it's right for the devoted poet to be chaste
Himself, but it's not necessary for his verses to be so.
Verses which then have taste and charm,
If they are delicate and sexy,
And can incite an itch,
And I don't mean in boys, but in those hairy old men
Who can't get their flaccid dicks up.
You, because you have read of my thousand kisses,
You think I'm a sissy?
I will sodomize you and face-fuck you.
That's some good Latin. I bet John Mayer recites that to every hooker before grabbing them by the ponytail.
Browns at Jaguars: MJD did the Tyrone Biggums crackhead shake in the endzone last week. I approve. I hope this week he slaps on an imaginary tourniquet and pantomimes shooting up heroin when he reaches the endzone. There aren't nearly enough drug-related touchdown celebrations.
I was watching the NFLN wrapup show last week and they showed highlights from Texans/Jags at the end of the show. This made no sense to me, because that game featured a completed Hail Mary. That should have led the program. Shit, the whole hour should have just been replays of the Hail Mary. It's a completed Hail Mary, the awesomest thing in football. It should never be considered a cursory highlight. How often do we get a game-winning Hail Mary in the NFL? Once every couple years? They should have opened the telecast with HOLY SHIT SOMEONE WON ON A HAIL MARY and proceeded from there. Never bury a Hail Mary.
Rams at Falcons: Last year I had to blow the leaves in our yard with an electric blower, which had a cord and all the blowing power of a lung cancer patient. It was a limp, feeble experience. But this year, I borrowed a gas-powered one. And that was fucking SWEET. I put on Mastodon and proceeded to blow the shit out of those leaves, imagining each one was a very small villager fleeing from my mighty atomic wind. And if a stray leaf somehow got left behind, I always would run up to it and be like, "Thought you could get away, BITCH?" Then I'd blast the little shit fifty yards. Most fun I've had in ages. Two days later, a storm came and the yard was a mess again. I couldn't have been more pleased. I BLOW LIKE A PRO.
Broncos at Chargers
Bears at Dolphins
Seahawks at Saints: I took a redeye flight back to DC last week. I took two Percocets before the flight so that I'd sleep. But I didn't really sleep. I just sat there for five hours unsure of whether or not I was asleep. I also neglected to buy a travel pillow, which resulted in my head sagging as my eyes closed, only to snap back up the second it fell to an unacceptable level. There was no place to put my enormous gorilla head for the entire flight. It just sat there the whole time, rolling around on top of my shoulders like a bowling ball someone stuck on top of a pinball machine. Clearly, I need either a travel pillow or a detachable head. The latter seems more practical.
Bucs at 49ers: In case you missed it, LaGarrette Blount's 360-aerial touchdown from last week:
That's goodness. Makes me want to punch a mouthy white kid.
Redskins at Titans
Ravens at Panthers: One of the strangest rules in the NFL is that a QB must be all the way past the line of scrimmage while throwing to get called for a penalty. The ball itself can be well past the line of scrimmage, so long as the tip of the QB's foot is still behind it. Conceivably, the ball could easily be a yard or two ahead of the line on the pass and the QB can still get away with it. I fucking hate this rule. There's nothing worse than seeing some dickhead on the other team run just up to the line of scrimmage and release the ball at a point you KNOW is past the line, only to have the play upheld because Asshole McFuckface lucked into having his left ankle barely on the line. I want to drive to the stadium and piss on the QB when they do that. Sure, it's within the rules, BUT IT VIOLATES THE SPIRIT OF THE GAME! IT HOLDS THE SPIRIT DOWN AND FORCIBLY RAPES IT, I TELL YOU!
Lions at Cowboys: Every fall, my house is besieged by horrible, disgusting cave crickets, which are harmless to humans but terrify me because I am a girl with massive, sloppy, dripping wet pussy. Anyway, to kill these fuckfaces, I have to put cricket poison in one of the storage areas under the house. This poison is a powder. It kind of looks like cornmeal, which means it's probably delicious when sprinkled on pizza crust.
Anyway, any time I sprinkle this poison around the storage area, I always get subsequent severe poison hypochondria. Say, my eye is kind of itchy. Coincidence, OR POISON? And why does my body feel all hot? It can't just be this sweater. Oh, Christ. Some of the pellets must have gotten in my nose. They're reproducing and giving birth to cancer AS WE SPEAK. It's gonna get in the groundwater! The children are gonna sprout horns and turn into little Down's babies! We're all gonna mutate and die young with teeth growing out our hands GAHH!!!!!
Still worth it to kill the crickets though. God, I fucking hate them.
Cardinals at Chiefs: I worked in an office last week, and this office had an editing bay with a program that allowed you to search the closed captioning on any television show that has aired within the past 60 days or so. So if you enter any word or phrase, like "angry pirate," the program will find every mention of that phrase and compile all the video segments together for you. This is what "The Daily Show" uses any time they stitch together 56 reporters all using the exact same political talking point.
I felt like an idiot when they showed me this program, because I had always assumed that the "Daily Show" had found those clips manually, that they employed some poor group of hipster interns who had to sit there all goddamn day watching cable news, trying to sift out any common sound bites, then rewind through hours of tape to put the clip montage together. I spent YEARS feeling bad for that imaginary group of pissboys. But now I know it's just one editor doing it over his lunch break. Suddenly, I'm not as impressed.
Bills at Bengals: Thanksgiving is a week from today, and I've already begun tapering in anticipation of the gorging. Last year, I loaded up my first plate with pretty much everything I possibly could, especially the dark meat, because the rest of my family has wised up and stopped preferring the white meat. This sucks, because they used to just blindly go for the white meat while I had all the fatty thigh goodness to myself. Now I have to make a pre-emptive strike and hog as much as I can.
Anyway, I load up this plate with every goddamn thing I can find, and plate is clearly holding an unreasonable amount of food. So Mrs. Drew looks at it and then stares daggers at me.
HER: That's disgusting. Really.
And I'm like, IT'S THANKSGIVING, WOMAN. Are you really gonna bitch me out for overeating on Thanksgiving? The one goddamn day a year when it's okay to do this? LET ME ENJOY MY FUCKING FOOD. That's all I ask. I've been looking forward to this meal for 364 days and you RUINED it with one look. Leave me and my shameful eating habits alone on this day.
Anyway, this year I'm gonna eat smaller, more frequent plates just to avoid any of that bullshit. The first plate will be 65% dark meat, along with bare necessities like stuffing, potatoes, and the top of the green bean casserole. The subsequent plates can be used for steady inflation. You want less obscene portions, lady? FINE. You fucked with the wrong formerly chubby man. I will steadily eat my way around your disapproving looks.
Vikings at Packers
Pregame Song That Makes Me Wanna Run Through A Goddamn Brick Wall
"A Horse Called Golgotha," by Baroness. Reposted from an earlier Funbag, because it's extremely important to drive home just how much this song will tie you down and smack you in the taint. Man, do I like songs that do that. I'm a rock n roll submissive.
By the way, nothing about this video makes sense.
Embarrassing Song I Like That Will Not Fire You Up
"A Minor Incident," by Badly Drawn Boy. This is the song I try singing to my kid when I put him to bed at night. I always think it's going to be a loving, tender moment (I also hope my wife is listening over the monitor, so that's she'll think I'm awesome and jump on top of me later on). I even get misty eyed when I start gently singing it to him. But he'll squirm the whole time, and I'll never make it past fifteen seconds or so. And I'll be like, HOLD STILL! YOU'RE RUINING THE SENTIMENTALITY, YOU LITTLE SHIT! Then I'll try and keep singing and he'll headbutt me in the nose. The kid has a head made of fucking quartzite, too. It hurts. It's almost as if children were designed through evolution to handle parental abuse.
But I'll keep singing to him. One day, we'll totally get it right and it'll be just like in the movies. I know it!
Fantasy Player That Deserves A Quick Finger In The Ass
It has to be Vick if you were playing against him last week. That's the kind of thing that always happens to players on OTHER fantasy teams. I never get that glory. I never get to experience the miracle, come from behind Monday Night win from 60 points. No, I'm the foil. I'm the sap who gets posterized by some asshole sending a screenshot of his Yahoo matchup around the office the next day. It's not right, I tell you. I CERTAINLY WOULDN'T WANT MICHAEL VICK ON MY FANTASY TEAM.
Suicide Pick Of The Week
The picks of Pittsburgh, New England, and Green Bay two weeks ago were 2-1, and Katie Bakes' pick of Tampa last week was correct, making the Jamboroo 13-9 on the season. Again, we pick three teams for your suicide pool and something that makes you want to commit suicide as well. This week, the picks are, Baltimore, Kansas City, New Orleans, and that smoking hot Kate Middleton marrying a bald dude. Oh, Kate. How could you? What does he have that I don't, apart from untold riches and a distinct lack of stretch marks?
By the way, 750 million people watched the last royal wedding, between Charles and Diana. That's unreal. I can't think of a rarer, more enormous television event. If I were the British, I'd force William and Kate to adopt 17 children and sell sponsorship rights to all future weddings for billions of dollars. Then I'd spent it all on delicious Caffrey's cream ale.
Nazi Shark's Vegas Lock Of The Week
Lots of sports sites, to demonstrate the arbitrary nature of gambling, like to have animals like monkeys pick games to see if they can outwit their human counterparts. There's no reason we at Deadspin can't also get in on the fun. So we've asked National Socialist German Workers' Party member Rolf, who also happens to be a shark, to pick one game a week. Take it away, Nazi shark.
"This week, I like Tampa getting 3 points on the road against San Francisco. It's the 65th anniversary of Nuremberg. NEVER FORGET. What's that? ‘Never Forget' is already a Jewish slogan? They stole EVERYTHING, dammit!"
2010 Nazi Shark Record: 5-3-1
Great Moments In Fart History
Reader Mike sends in this story I call SCHOOL OF FART KNOCKS :
One day, after loading up with school-lunch chimichanga/rice/beans I headed off (read: waddled) to my next class, where I immediately sat down and got out my stuff, prepared to diligently learn 7th grade US history. When class started, I knew I was in trouble. The sounds my stomach made PRE-FART were simply awful. I don't know what happens down there but it's like a god damn humpback whale, complete with draining noises. I try to stifle it uncomfortably, but I know that I've got a white-hot air biscuit ready to come out, backed by what's likely to be gallons of liquid hatred.
I don't know if you remember middle school, but bathroom passes are like GOLD. It's not like real life, when authority figures give you the lee-way of probably knowing when the fuck you have to go to the bathroom. No. That decision isn't your own in middle school - the teacher has to sign a pass, or you've got to carry some ludicrous bathroom key that acts as a hall pass. Needless to say, when the teacher is actually teaching, you can't just raise your hand and ask if you can go shit, and god knows you can't just get up quitely and leave. It's a fucking process.
So I'm sitting there, in AGONY, trying to figure out what to do. I know that it's going to be tricky to release this thing without having the liquid brown blast forth as well. So I spread my ass cheeks against the bottom of the chair, and go for the limited-flow silent release. It worked. RELIEF. But I wasn't out of the woods yet. The smell hit me almost immediately, and made it difficult to breathe, so thick it was. Normally - even in middle school - there will be some snickers as people smell a fart, but life will generally proceed if you're in class. Not here. The teacher (the fucking TEACHER) stopped talking, ran to his desk and pulled out some sort of clothe, covered his nose, and immediately began inquiring as to who the perpetrator was. The entire class was in pain. I mean - nobody is throwing up or anything, but it is really, REALLY bad in that classroom. The sheer volume covered by my stench impresses me even to this day. Normally the fat kid always gets blamed, and here was no different. I was immediately singled out and questioned - again by the TEACHER - if it was me, to which I had to sheepishly admit that, yes indeed, I was the farter. To deny would be lying to a teacher, which is something I apparently wasn't about to do? I don't know. Either way, I ended up with a fucking in-school suspension for my disruptive behavior. For farting.
My mom was appalled. My dad tried to be mad, but it was clear that he thought the whole thing was pretty funny.
I, interestingly enough, got a little popularity boost out of the whole episode. The stories grew to the point where you would have thought that our little classroom in Northern Indiana was fucking Hiroshima. I was feared.
Awww, way to make lemonade out of methane, kiddo.
Fire This Asshole!
Is there anything more exciting than a coach losing his job? All year long, we'll keep track of which coaches will almost certainly get fired at year's end or sooner. And now, your updated chopping block:
Wade Phillips (FIRED!)
This is the week Childress gets thrown out on his bald ass. I CAN FEEL IT! Apart from him and John Fox, I fear that the lockout will make for a very small pool of firings this offseason. And that is a tragedy.
Gametime Snack Of The Week
KOREAN SHORT RIB TACOS OH SWEET JESUS THOSE ARE FUCKING GOOD! My friend took me to the Kogi taco truck last week. It was emotional.
Gametime Cheap Beer Of The Week
CLEAR CREEK ICE! Reader Brian sends in this gem:
I saw this beer at a liquor store today. It was $3 for a 4-pack. It is called "Clear Creek Ice", and it looks magical.
Indeed it does. Look at the font on that can. It looks like the font they use for the opening credits for an 80's teen sex comedy. I MUST HAVE IT. And I like the "strong beer/biere forte" sash running across the label. They are NOT fucking around. Check the sales copy:
Clear Creek Ice is a strong and tasty ice beer with a dynamic explosion and true taste.
I like any beer that has a dynamic explosion. I will dynamically explode all goddamn night!
Robert Evans' MVP Watch!
Time to start thinking about who the leaders are for the NFL's MVP award. So every week, legendary Hollywood producer Robert Evans will join us to give us his assessment. Take it away, Mr. Evans.
"Baby, my favorite for the NFL's MVP is Michael Vick of the Eagles! Dazzling? YOU BET! Elusive? As elusive as Garbo's tender snatch! A lot of people don't like the fact that Vick used to fight dogs. Well, let me tell you a story about a dog fighting enthusiast you may not have been aware of: The legendary ANTHONY QUINN! Zorba himself! Father to 15 children by 37 different women! Tony LOVED to fight the puppies. Adored it. Thought it toughened the species. I remember when he invited me over to his villa in Naples one year. He was with his ninth wife, Stefania. A SPICY NUMBER! And he takes me round back to this chalk circle he had drawn in the gravel. There must have been fifty old Naples men sitting back there, all swilling cappuccinos, eating salami by the fistful, and watching stray dogs chomp each other to the death!
"Now, Evans is an animal lover like no other. Woodland is home to over 498 different species? Cockatoos? YOU BET! Lemurs? I'M APE FOR THEM! But even I couldn't help but get swept up in the atmosphere of Zorba's backyard. YOU DON'T SAY NO TO AN ITALIAN DOGFIGHT, GANG! And I have to say, it was one of the better afternoons of my life. I won 18,000 lira and saw a Pomeranian get its hind leg chewed off. The scene had a gritty, realistic, Cassavetesish feel to it. And I'd lying if I said it didn't get me hard!"
Sunday Afternoon Movie Of The Week For Bills Fans
Beauty and the Beast. My kid is on a binge with this movie, and watching it 400 times I've come to the realization that this flick is nothing more than porn for anyone with Battered Woman Syndrome. Think about it. The beast is prone to violent mood swings. He snarls at Belle. He grabs her by the arm. He locks her in her room and won't let her out. That's classic abusive boyfriend behavior. But noooooo, she thinks he has a good heart and shit. And she sticks with him until the end, when he magically turns into a handsome prince and a fairly nice guy. But that shit ain't real life. In real life, if you marry a beast, he's gonna keep locking you in your room, develop a nasty drinking habit, and start beating the shit out of you. This movie teaches young girls that they can change asshole boyfriends. THAT IS A LIE. A LIE, I TELL YOU!
Gratuitous Simpsons Quote
"Tonight, Eye On Springfield takes a look at the secret affairs of Kennedy, Eisenhower, Bush, and Clinton. Did fooling around on their wives make them great? We'll find out next, when we play Hail to the Cheat!"
Halftime Masturbation Kit
-For the guys: Chicks in Hermione costumes. Featuring that one Lohan photo. You know the one.
-For the gals: Reader TexasGal sends in this photo of Andrew Cogliano, Sheldon Souray and Ethan Moreau of the Edmonton Oilers. Sassy!
Enjoy the games, everyone.