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Jamboroo, Week 9: The Budding Legend Of Derek "Horse Balls" Anderson

Big Daddy Drew's Thursday Afternoon NFL Dick Joke Jamboroo previews the upcoming weekend of the NFL every, well, every Thursday afternoon.

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.


• Derek's nickname is DA. Pretty clever. I bet Linda Cohn gave him that handle. She's creative like that.

• 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.)

• 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!

• 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.

• He watches "Laguna Beach." Maybe he and Simmons could talk about it over a pedicure sometime.

• 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:

• Derek "Horse Balls" Anderson was born in a Scappoose, Oregon in 1983.

• His father was a world-champion log-roller. His mother was a sassy waitress at a greasy spoon. Derek was conceived in a wheelbarrow.

• Derek's mother gave birth to him while sliding down a log flume. The afterbirth was fed to a baby ox.

• Derek spent a lot of time as a child at his father's lumber operation, twice a week fulfilling the duty of "barrel boy".

• 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.

• He has been show-jumping buffalo since age 5.

• 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.

• Not even when his team was losing by 50 points (which it often was).

• Not even during the traditional Scappoose High "Broken Plunger" hazing rituals his freshman year.

• Not even when he clicked on the Lemon Party website by accident.

• 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.

• Teammates dislike playing practical jokes on Derek, because he does not exhibit any visual reaction to things like poop, fireworks, gunshots or cock slaps.

• 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.

• Derek is the only player on the Browns that likes Kellen Winslow.

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

• Javon Walker (knee)

• Byron Leftwich (sandwich)

• Entire Redskins roster (anal trauma)

• Chad Pennington (put down)

• 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

• For the guys: Supermodel Marisa Miller. I'm a sucker for lace, ruffles, and other frilly adornments. That's quality shit right there.

• -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

• "Tom, tell me about today's victory. How were you able to SO LONG FUCKO!!!" (bashes Brady's knee with Mag Lite)

• "Coach Shanahan, have you tried Super PoliGrip? It's the best PoliGrip yet! You can eat corn on the cob now!"

• "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.

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