Because Prime Time Is Where The Motherfucking Draft Belongs. Your 2010 NFL Draft Jamboroo

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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.

The NFL Draft is TONIGHT! Oh, fuck yeah! WOOHOO! Prime time, cunts! Where Jimmy Clausen's inevitable 28-slot drop belongs! I've heard a lot of people bitch about the NFL moving the draft to prime time this year (First round is tonight, rounds two and three tomorrow night, rest of the draft is all day Saturday). These people are fuckheads.


For years, the NFL Draft has always fallen on the nicest weekend of the year. Now, I could give two shits about staying inside on a gorgeous day. I'm fine with it. But what I cannot stand are all the disapproving looks I get from OTHER people for electing to stay inside on such a day to watch the draft. My parents never understood it. My wife never understood it. All of them were just like, "WAHHHH IT'S NICE OUTSIDE AND THIS ISN'T EVEN A FOOTBALL GAME!" Piss off! I don't need your consternating looks! You are not the boss of me! MAYBE IF YOU WERE MORE ACCEPTING OF ME, I WOULDN'T HAVE LEARNED TO SELF-MEDICATE WITH RANCH DRESSING.

The NFL Draft has always belonged in prime time. It's long since outgrown its traditional early weekend slot. Now that it's taking place at night, I can eat and drink freely and not worry about supposedly wasting a nice weekend (and it really is quite a nice weekend. My folks were somewhat correct. We could go to a beer garden!). Plus, the CROWD will be drunker, and angrier, and even more prone to booing and throwing shit. And if you hate the idea of the draft not being on the weekend, well the last four rounds are still on Saturday anyway. You still get your precious daytime broadcast of it.


There's nothing to hate about this move. A year from now, you won't even notice. The idea of the first round in daytime will seem distant and odd to you. I promise.

And if you're the sort of person that feels compelled to declare that you hate the draft either way, you can still fucking choke on it. That means you: Wilbon, and Leitch, and whoever the fuck else. This shit isn't for you. So you can go fucking DIE. This is the goddamn 2010 NFL Draft Jamboroo. Let's get into this.


The Draft/Random Crap
All elements of the draft are evaluated for sheer awesomeness on a scale of 1 to 5 Throwgasms.


Five Throwgasms

Big Ben And His Little Gray Penis: Oh, what a godsend. Thank the heavens for this man and his penchant for whipping out his gray dick to every skank he can get his mitts on. Every year, I think the NFL offseason will be a horrible drag, and then, as if magically planned, one player will spend the entire offseason fucking up in spectacularly entertaining fashion. Vick. Cutler. And now, Big Ben. We all owe this man a measure of gratitude for helping us ignore playoff basketball and hockey. I could kiss him, if I knew he wouldn't end up trying to press his gray penis against me.


I've heard the Steelers are now trying to trade Ben. This strikes me as astonishingly rash. Yeah, he's a prick. But this is football. The sport is teeming with pricks. Every team is coached by a prick. Every analyst is a prick. Berman is a prick. Every fan is a prick. I'M A PRICK. Should they really trade away a two-time Super Bowl winning QB just because he's a fucking lech? WAHHH BUT WHAT KIND OF MESSAGE DOES IT SEND TO THE KIDS?! Wouldn't it be more prudent to see if Ben can see the error of his ways, stop being a dickhead, visit cancer babies in hospitals, and then get a touching Gary Smith piece written about him sixteen months from now, while still offering the Steelers good quarterbacking?

There are only ten QBs in history who have started and won two Super Bowls (Bart Starr, Bob Griese, Terry Bradshaw, Roger Staubach, Jim Plunkett, Joe Montana, Troy Aikman, John Elway, Tom Brady, and Big Ben Greystoke The Tard). They aren't easy to find. When you find one, you tend to keep them. I know the Steelers are supposedly the "classy" franchise who are all blue collar and men of character who shit integrity and all that crap, but come on. The guy wasn't even charged with anything.


I feel as if the media wills these things to happen. You can sense the momentum as they refuse to let the story go. It's as if everyone in the media collectively decided, "Oh, well the Steelers HAVE to get rid of him now," and then everyone else just ends up agreeing that he must go. No, he doesn't. He really doesn't. Fans in Pittsburgh aren't happy? Well, who gives a shit? Fans are dumb. One TD pass later, and they forget all about Ben's gray dick. Look at the crowds cheering for Tiger at Augusta. Fans are fucking sheep. I know I am.

Big Ben is the best Steelers QB since Bradshaw. Those years in between the two were most agonizing for Pittsburgh fans. Isn't it better to keep him and hope he figures it out rather than go 7-9 for five straight years with fucking Ribwich at QB?


I'll be sad if Pittsburgh finally DOES trade his ass, because then it means the story is all but dead. And that's too bad. I know people say they get tired of stories that are supposedly beaten into the ground, like Big Ben and Tiger Woods. But I don't get tired of them. I love having them stick around for fucking ages. Beats working.

The Coming Rookie Pay Scale: Adam Schefter reported that Sam Bradford will get a bonus of around $50 million to sign with the Rams at the #1 slot. Fifty million dollars to a dude who didn't play last year, and won the Heisman the year before playing against shitass Big 12 defenses. I'm sure Sam Bradford is a nice fellow, but this is insane. Every fucking year, the rookie bonuses escalate at a rate that has nothing to do with reality. When owners lock out the players in 2011, this will be one of the things they correct, and it's overdue. Teams like the Rams are essentially forced to pick someone like Bradford, because they need a QB so desperately. Then they toss a huge bonus that pick's way and are fucked beyond reason if the pick fails. And the pick is all but set up to fail, given his incredible pay, management's need to play him early to justify that pay, and coaches being fired when the pick's early play turns out to be shit. Then the same team picks a QB in the top 5 six years later and we do it all over again.


No #1 draft pick has been traded in the NFL since Eli Manning, and the reason why is because having the #1 pick blows. It shouldn't be that way. The #1 pick should be a reward, and not a trap. Hopefully, that shit gets corrected next year.

Booing: Because I'm unfathomably dumb, I just realized that the word BOO has two different connotations. You say it when you want to scare someone. BOO! And you say it when you think someone blows. BOOOOOOOO. What I would like is for those connotations to be switched on occasion. Just for fun. For example: I would like the crowd at the NFL Draft to be really quiet when a dude walks up to shake the commissioner's hand and hold up his jersey. Then, just when Stuart Scott is interviewing him and asking to suck his dick, the crowd just yells BOO! together, all at once. Just scare the piss out of the poor guy. I'd love to do that to a centerfielder in baseball. Just scare his ass while he's stretching and shit.


Conversely, one day I would like to hide behind a bush, wait for my friend Jeremy to walk by, and then jump out and go BOOOOOOOO YOU FUCKING SUCK YOU FUCKING DIPSHIT. It would totally throw him off his game. Why did you hide behind a bush just to boo me? Seems unreasonable.

The Inevitable Green Room Drop: If Tebow falls out of Round 1 (which I doubt, because someone out there will go all wacky and take him early), Suzy Kolber should follow him to his hotel and keep a live camera feed on him while he cries himself to sleep.


Eisen And Deion: I assume they'll be there for NFL Network to cover the draft, along with Mike Mayock. I'm sure they'll surround them on the set with a bunch of other assholes, like Mariucci (who is awful) and Jamie Dukes and anyone else they could find pawning high school championship rings outside of Reno. I'll just have to accept that. What I do hope is that the let Deion and Eisen work a little bit of their magic together, because they are awesome.

Getting a low number table at a wedding: I went to a wedding in December and did that thing where you go to the table in the lobby and there's a little card waiting for you to tell you what number table you're sitting at. That's always a thrilling moment. What's it gonna be? How important are you? Turned out we were at Table 3. I felt like I had won the lottery. Some dude next to me was Table 15. HA! What a loser. You are in Tier 15 of usefulness to the happy couple, dipshit.


I hate weddings where the bride and groom take it upon themselves to seat you with fuckers that you don't know. On purpose. Oh, they won't group all your college friends together. That would be too predictable. Much better to stick you with an 80-year old couple and the one couple who flew in from Poland. That's always a winning table. You wedding people: put gusts who are friends together. So they can have a good time and shit. Don't get fucking cute.


Four Throwgasms

Smoky Eye: Tonight's draft conflicts with the season finale of "Project Runway." QUE HORROR! Anyway, I watch this show, and every time they send their models to the Loreal Makeup Room or whatever it's called, they always demand that the makeup artists give their models "kind of a smoky eye." Every time. It's just smoky eyes left and right. I love this term and I want to make it an Urban Dictionary term for putting out your cigarette in someone's asshole. I JUST GAVE YOU THE SMOKY EYE. I bet Daulerio has done this to a friend. While they were sleeping.


Kiper: I love Kiper, but why did they water him down with this McShay fuckface? I don't like Todd McShay. I don't trust him. Looks like he spends his weekend teaming up with Matthew Berry to film himself fucking hookers. Mel Kiper has over 20 years of experience grading draftees in an arbitrary manner and giving me useless and hopelessly ill-fated predictions. Who the fuck is Todd McShay to do likewise?

Extending the draft: The draft used to be twelve rounds long. For reasons that escape me, it was shortened to seven rounds a while back. I guess so people in the war room could go play golf at an earlier hour. Well, I say that's crap. Everything in sports is expanded to the point of irrationality. The NCAA tourney will grow. The NFL may got to 18 games. So I demand the Draft go back to 12 rounds. That way, they could air rounds 8-12 on Sunday, so you get a full weekend of draft plus all the prime time shit on THU/FRI. That would be awesome. By Sunday, I'd be a shell of a human being. One of my eyes would cease functioning and my mouth would be unable to close. I want that.


Three Throwgasms

Your team drafting Tim Tebow: Plenty of my mock drafts have my favorite team drafting Tim Tebow. Perhaps yours has also been predicted to do the same. As much fun as it is to poke fun at Tim Tebow, I don't really have a problem with it. If you draft him and he fails, well that's pretty much what you expected. You get to be all smug and bask in his shittiness. But if you draft him low and it turns out he can win Super Bowls and cure lepers and fix motorcycles with his mind, that's not such a bad tradeoff for your team drafting the most tiresome QB prospect in the history of everything ever.


Two Throwgasms

Peter Kingish travel notes: I was on a flight two weeks ago to Phoenix. I was flying Southwest and my boarding pass was like B978 or something horrible like that. So I get on the plane close to DFL and I see a bitch seat near the front, which I take. I sit between this man and this lady. I assume they don't know each other, since they're sitting apart. For the first four hours of the flight, these two people say nothing to each other or to me. I'm just sitting there, reading a book. Just before we land, the guy hands a newspaper to the woman over my lap. "Honey, read this." My mind fucking blew. Then they start talking to me and telling me they're going to visit their kids in Phoenix and how much they hate that city. And I'm just like, "Wait. You two are married? What the fuck? Why am I sitting between your fat asses? Why did you say nothing to each other for the duration of this flight?" Still completely puzzles me. I bet they sleep in different rooms in the same house. Old married people are fucked up.


One Throwgasm

Berman: DIE. Don't you fucking dare tip that Tebow pick, you fat cunt.

This red carpet shit: "Charles Coplin, the NFL programming vice president overseeing the show at Manhattan's Radio City Music Hall, Tuesday said Goldberg and actors Alyssa Milano, Josh Charles and Dan Lauria as well as weight loss guru Jillian Michaels will be working the draft's first-ever red carpet for entrances shown live Thursday on ESPN and NFL Network (6 p.m. ET)." What? Why? Whoopi Goldberg? Who asked for this? Who thought this would help ratings? The subset of people who like Whoopi Goldberg and people who like football don't overlap. And you know why? Because the subset of people who like Whoopi Goldberg DOESN'T FUCKING EXIST. Goddamn NFL. You always have to take it ONE step too far, don't you?


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

"Just Got Paid," by Mastodon. I saw Mastodon in concert two days ago, and they were excellent. I hadn't been near a mosh pit in a long time. It was fun. You spend 70 minutes boxing out other people. I was near the front of the crowd. The pit opened behind us. When someone in the front got pushed or kicked toward the front, the entire front of the crowd compressed, then the chicks getting suffocated in the front row would push back, and then everyone would fall back in the other direction like whoaaaaaaaa. Pretty impressive that no one got trampled to death. 75% of every mosh pit is comprised of dudes who came to the show not even knowing or caring about the headliner band. They're just guys who want to punch other people and not get arrested for it. Which is fine with me. You know what you're getting into when you go to shit like this. A couple of times, the pushing would stop between songs and everyone would rest. That's a nice moment, before the next song comes on and I have crowdsurfers being thrown onto the back of my fucking neck again.


I'm terrified of short drunk guys in mosh pits, because those short drunk motherfuckers can't see the stage, and therefore they never get distracted by lasers or guitars or anything. They are just fucking RELENTLESS. Women too. Women in the mosh pit know they have to scratch and claw to stay upright, and they do so freely. I think I pulled out a clump of someone's hair during "Ghost of Karelia". Whoop dee! One dude kept his foot on the back of my knee for a good three minutes. That was kind of unpleasant. Regardless, it's nice to get lost in the current of bodies and somehow end up two rows from the front. Whoa hey! Look at that! I can see the lead singer's feet! And all I had to do was trample seven people to get here! Cool.

One thing about crowd surfing: If you're gonna crowdsurf, could you people wear lighter shoes? I'm the one who always gets the crowdsurfer wearing 70-pound ski boots that take my goddamn ear off. Did you really need to wear the steel toes, you fuck? Some more concert notes:

-I love fat metal kids. The ones who wear the Kevin Smith shorts and have the horrible beards and calves thicker than a fucking oil pipeline. With a buzzcut and a mouth that just hangs down, Diddy style. I was a fat metal kid. They're a delight. They do not smell good.


-Opening for Mastodon (along with Baroness) was a band named Between The Buried And Me. They were fine, but they had a giant GO VEG sign on their amp, with a PETA sticker on it. That is so not metal.

Nazi Shark's Vegas Futures 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 a futures bet. Take it away, Nazi shark.


"This week, I like the Texans at 14/1 to win the AFC title. People, this past Tuesday was the birthday of our dear Fuhrer, who is now 121 years old. Oh, did I say IS? I meant WOULD HAVE BEEN, of course. It would be crazy to assume Adolf Hitler, light of our white world, would still be alive today, living comfortably in French Guyana thanks to the age-elongating serum German doctors found in the live Jew brains they dissected at Dachau. That would just be silly to imagine. It couldn't possibly happen.


"But, if such a thing WERE possible, do be sure to send him his traditional birthday gift of coffee and cake. And a Jew's eyeball."

Great Moments In Poop History
Reader Tommy sends in this story he calls SHIT TRICK:

After high school I spent a year trying to extend my athletic career by playing on Junior A hockey team in Vermont.

One particular tournament was hosted at some ski resort town rink in New Hampshire, and as our team showed up for the first game the rink manager informed us that the toilet in our locker room was being replaced and we'd have to use the one in the main lobby.

A minor inconvenience at the time, I went through warm-ups and the start of the first period before a slight grumbling started in my stomach. I tried to ignore it, but after a couple more minutes I knew my worsening pangs were the unmistakable precursor to some serious chocolate fireworks. Anyone watching me those first few shifts probably thought I was quite the pussy, as I avoided contact at all costs knowing full well one good check could make me shit myself. Luckily I managed to score right off on a tip-in, so my horrible play was somewhat disguised.

By this time I was starting to barter with my asshole, "hey little buddy if you can hold out till the end of the period no more Taco Bell I swear!," but whenever the sharp pains briefly let up they came back twice as bad.

With about five minutes left in the period I was sweating bullets on the bench not from my hustle on the ice, but the shear effort of clenching my ass cheeks together. As one of my teammates came to the bench for a change, every fiber of my being told me not to go, but somehow I managed to hop the boards and begin slowly skating towards the action in the other team's end.

When I got to the high slot the puck squirted (no pun intended) out from the scrum on the end boards right to me, and I sent a one-timer past the goalie into the net. My goal scoring celebration? Turning around and taking off in a dead sprint to the other end of the ice to the rink entrance door-I could take it no longer.

The rink manager was standing nearby as I began pounding on the glass, and as he came over to open the door I told him he needed to unlock the locker room. I can't imagine what my teammates, other team, and crowd was thinking at this time besides "he must have to take a shit really bad".

As soon as the rink manager unlocked the door, my ass sensed the bathroom and readied itself to unleash hell. Unfortunately in my duress, I had forgotten the minor detail about there not being a goddamn toilet in our locker room. Looking back now I probably should have just squatted over the hole where the porcelain should have been and let it fly, but in that moment I only could think of two options: untie my skates and run out to the lobby bathroom or bear crawl across the shower room to the other team's locker room.

In a split second I decided on the latter since the lobby option was further away and involved a shameful walk back in front of the crowd. I have never been in such agony as I sped on my hands in knees to the promised land. After flying through the bathroom door and wrestling my hockey pants down, I didn't even have time to sit before I began spraying. I managed to hit the wall, metal flushing stem, and back portion of the toilet seat before I got seated. My relief was brief as this was one of those diarrhea episodes that didn't end after the first explosion, and every time I stood up or wiped another wave would commence.

Things quickly went from bad to worse when I heard the buzzer go off for the end of the 1st period. I was close to being finished, but not before the locker room door opened up and the other team started filing in. I locked the bathroom door and blew out my o-ring one last time before I wiped again and tried to clean up the mess I had made. I didn't accomplish much besides smearing up the wall worse, and by this time the bathroom handle had been shaken a couple times by members of the other team. Trying to think of a way out of this predicament, I flushed only to see the 5 lbs of toilet paper I had used instantly plug the bowl. A complete amateur move, my lack of a courtesy flush(es) throughout my ordeal resulted in a nearly overflowing collection of my handy work.

By this time the other team's coach had entered the locker room and began berating his team. He yelled whoever is in the bathroom to hurry the fuck up so he could go over the game plan for the second period. I had no choice but to open up the door walk out and say, "our bathroom isn't working" while the other team watched me leave in stunned silence. I didn't manage to get that third goal to complete my hat trick, but I like to think that the devastation I left behind in the opponents' bathroom was one of my better athletic achievements.


Sweet baby Jesus. I'll never watch hockey the same way again.

Drafttime Snack Of The Week


Bubble Tape! It's like regular bubble gum, only in tape form! Who are you to argue?

Japan, In A Nutshell
My friend went to Japan last week for work. He ate dinner with a Japanese translator. The waiter put something down on his plate. He ate the object, which was very good. He asked the translator what it was he just ate. The translator says, "I can't really explain what you just ate in English."


What the fuck could this dude have eaten that a professional translator couldn't even communicate it to him? "Well, we start with an ostrich. Then we have a buffalo jizz on its face. Then we feed it miso paste…"

Drafttime Cheap Malt Liquor Of The Week


Laser! Reader James submits this rape potion with a label that was apparently designed by the art director on Boogie Nights. I MUST HAVE IT. I like that malt liquors and heavy metals bands have names that are all but interchangeable.

If I were a billionaire, I'd be the first man on Earth to microbrew malt liquor. Every microbrewer aims to make some fancy pants, GOOD beer. I say fuck that. I'd rather spend my time trying to painstakingly craft the most violent-tasting dogshit the world has ever seen. Then I'd spend millions on label design. There'd be thunder, and six-legged horses with dragon heads, and Flying V guitars, and all kinds of other awesome shit. Just for fun. I really, really wish I were a billionaire.


Robert Evans' MVP Watch!
Time to start thinking about who will win the 2010 NFL MVP. Legendary Hollywood producer Robert Evans will join us to give us his assessment. Take it away, Mr. Evans.


"Baby, my favorite for the 2010 NFL MVP is Donovan McNabb of the Redskins! You know, this whole Big Ben disaster reminds me of my days working with Jimmy Caan on the Godfather set. You think ol' Ben couldn't keep it in his pants? Jimmy Caan would put his dick in the salad! Just a terrible, chronic raper. Aggressive? You bet! Herpes-riddled? ABSOLUTELY! He even raped the best boy! NO ONE RAPES THE BEST BOY!

"If you came within five feet of Jimmy, he'd throw you down and rape you. Well, I couldn't have him causing delays like this. TIME IS MONEY, BABY! So I told Coppola, ‘Listen to me, you guinea dago wop fatty. I can't have Caan rape his way through this picture. There's this technology called greenscreening now, where you can film the actor and then just paste them in later. Let's do that.' So we isolated Jimmy on a lot in Burbank, bought him a cow to rape to pass the time, and shot him on his own. And that's why the toll booth scene was so seamless! Savvy? YOU BET!"


Thursday Night Movie Of The Week For Bears And Panthers Fans (No 1st Round Pick)

District 9. Goddamn, this movie kicked ass. And now I get to spend my days daydreaming about being corrupted with alien shrimp DNA, which would allow me to operate kickass lasers that make people blow the fuck up. But then I'd have to be separated from my family in a clear case of martyrdom. Oh, the suffering. I LOVE YOU, BABY!


/tries to talk in that weird South Effriken eccint

Gratuitous Simpsons Quote
"I just scheduled a tetanus booster. Maybe I'm being a little anal, but barefoot season is coming up and there's a world of rusty nails out there."


Halftime Masturbation Kit
Bad news: I'm done doing the HMK. Just bookmark Gorillamask if you need to jack it so badly. You don't need my help to find boobs online.

Enjoy the Draft, everyone. See you back here with new Jamboroos in September.