"Leper Messiah," by Metallica. FUN FACT: This song is actually about Tim Tebow. I used to listen to this song in my room when I was a kid and when the solo came along I was full-on air guitaring and headbanging at full fury. And once in a while, my mom would come in to tell me it was juice time or something and I'd get all self-conscious because she saw me being a ROCK GOD. And whenever she closed the door after that, I never rocked quite as hard. I couldn't shake the idea that she'd come busting in again. Parents are so lame.


Drew’s Chili Recipe

Every year, I post this recipe in the Jamboroo. I would strongly suggest you make chili the day before the Super Bowl, because a) hey, eating on Saturday is just as enjoyable, b) you get your fill before asshole party guests take it all and leave you with nothing and c) it always tastes better reheated. It really doesn't become chili until the next day. You can stir it and taste it and stir it and taste it and somehow it never really all comes together until it's been sitting around in a fridge for hours and hours. I like to check up on it in the morning, like a child I've put to bed the night before. I lift the lid and dip a spoon in and scoop out a bit and taste and then before I know it... NO MORE CHILI.


Anyway, as always, feel free to riff off of this recipe and make it your own because everyone likes having their own recipe and everyone likes bragging that theirs is the best even though it's probably a lie. FOR THE CHILI (Make 8-10 servings, I guess):

2 packs ground beef or chicken (make sure it’s the fatty percentage, like 80/20.)


1 onion, chopped

4 cloves garlic, chopped

1 shallot, chopped (ANNUAL NOTE: Shallots are the food that make restaurant food taste like restaurant food.)


1 jalapeno, chopped

1 large can crushed tomatoes

1 can tall red kidney beans, drained

1 can corn, drained

1 can beer

1 can chicken broth

1 tsp liquid smoke

1 tsp sugar

1 tsp fennel seed

2 tbsp cumin (add more at end if necessary)

2 tbsp chili powder (add more at end if necessary)

1/4 cup white vinegar

Salt & pepper to taste

Ashes from a joint (optional)

Lotta Frank's Hot Sauce

2 glugs olive oil


Shredded cheese

Tortilla chips

Sour cream

Frank's hot sauce

1 bunch scallions, chopped


Put a big pot on the stove on medium. Pour in the oil. When it's hot, toss in the onions, garlic, jalapeno, and shallots and stir them around until soft. Toss in the ground meat. Salt and pepper the ground meat in the pot. Sautee the meat until it's good and brown. Add the tomatoes, beans, corn, beer, broth, liquid smoke, sugar, cumin, chili powder, fennel seed, joint ashes, vinegar, and Frank's. Bring it to a simmer. Half cover the pot and leave it on low medium heat for 3-4 hours, stirring occasionally and always tasting. The liquid in the pot should reduce into a nice, thick stew. Add water if you feel like it needs more time. Dip in a chip to see if the chili sticks to it. If it does, it's ready to serve.


Gregg Easterbrook Is A Haughty Dipshit

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It's only Thursday and already the Football Gods are not appeased! They plan all their chortling, you know. Anyway, here's Gregggg sucking the joy out of everything:

Since the NFL MVP always goes to a quarterback or running back, for a decade TMQ has conferred a Non-QB Non-RB MVP, the coveted "longest award in sports."


Ah yes, to be conferred upon the remarkable PHIL LOADHOLT, or some other random lineman that Gregg watched on tape for three minutes.

The Non-QB Non-RB MVP must be a player from one of the Super Bowl entrants, my reasoning being that he who would wear the mantle of "most valuable" had better have created some value.


That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard. Here is a man who talks about SPACE and PHYSICS and welcomes newfangled football metrics into the conversation. But when it's time to pick an MVP, he's like DURRRRR GOTTA BE A WINNER DURRRRR. And he's not even talking about quarterbacks! He’s talking about linemen who could be surrounded with 10 putrid teammates. Goddammit, Easterbrook. I am NOT propitiated.

Graduation rates should be factored into the new FBS playoff ranking system.

"Hey guys, let's ensure that no one watches college football!"

Want to impress your friends while watching the game? If either the Broncos or Seahawks score on a pick-six, immediately announce they will win. Teams returning an interception for a touchdown are 11-0 in the Super Bowl.



Sherman's postgame diatribe after the NFC title contest was pretty silly, but the reaction was even sillier.


Okay, now picture Michael Crabtree making that catch and delivering the same outburst on national television. How many words do you think Gregggggg here would expend blasting him? Ten thousand? Ten thousand and four? If you went to an ELITE school and were drafted low, TMQ will gladly excuse your petty behavior. But have the gall to be a well paid GLORY BOY? Oh, you will incur the full wrath of the Football Jesuses (see below).

Tuesday Morning Quarterback contends the outdoor cold-weather Super Bowl will be either a rousing success or total fiasco.


Bold! Either people will like it, or they will not!

The cult-status "Sopranos" episode "Pine Barrens" — in which Chris and Paulie Walnuts wander incompetently through New Jersey's famed pine barrens searching for an equally incompetent Russian mobster they are supposed to whack — was not filmed in the pine barrens. The episode was filmed in New York's Harriman State Park, whose tree species differ significantly from those of the pine barrens.


I KNEW SOMETHING WAS WRONG WITH THOSE TREES. And why didn’t those trees stop Paulie and ask for proper identification? Am I just to sit here and believe that a work of fiction is somehow not fictional? The spruce gods wince. Okay, now prepare yourself for this, because this is puke.

Crabtree Curse Revived: Early in Michael Crabtree's career, TMQ tracked the Crabtree Curse — the 49ers were more likely to win when Crabtree was hurt than when he was in the lineup. Many readers, including Herman Hou of London, note the Crabtree Curse lives.


Note: When the Niners win, NO CURSE. When they lose: Oh my God the Curse lives! ZOMBIE CURSE.

Not only was the final throw of the NFC title game, intercepted by Seattle, targeted at Crabtree: all three of San Francisco's final throws of the 2013 Super Bowl, all incompletions, were targeted at Crabtree.


And all obviously his fault!

Bad enough that the 49ers let Crabtree onto the field; when they try to throw him the ball, a Curse awaits.


Oh, like in Green Bay? When it was minus eight hundred and Crabtree caught everything in sight? Or when Crabtree came back for the last five games of the regular season and the Niners won EVERY ONE of those games? Yeah, big fucking curse there. Crabtree’s ghostly chains echo ‘round the city whenever he helps his team win a lot. Jesus.

NFL cheerleaders are women who are being taken advantage of financially by a male power structure, yet feminists and intellectuals have shown no interest in their situation. Feminists may not like pretty girls dancing in miniskirts, though NFL cheerleaders are a fit, assertive interpretation of sex appeal (most can do military pushups)


Oh, they can do pushups! Take that feminists! I bet you stay home with your cats eating Chubby Hubby by the pint while these hardworking gals take the field half naked all for Greggggg’s mighty boner! This grotesque discrimination against gorgeous women must stop!

The Broncos stand for digitized chaos — they are the smartphones of sports. The Seahawks stand for your grandparents' dinner-table customs — they are throwbacks, if in radioactive colors.


The above passage was ghostwritten by Frank Bruni.

Yours truly will be freezing his keister off at the Super Bowl — let's hope nothing goes wrong and the New Jersey Generals don't trot onto the field. I ordered fleece-lined jeans from L.L. Bean. Cold would be fine by me.


You heathen. Here you are moaning on and on about coaches and cheerleaders having to be cold to appease your imaginary football gods, and you gotta bust out LL Bean half-jammies in the stands? PATHETIC. What a hypocrite. I guess the laws of TMQ don’t apply to TMQ himself! You are no bald eagle writer, sir.

I also ordered a reporter's notebook that claims to not to run in rain.

You cannot kill the notebook. It lives forever and anything written in it comes to pass. It is not unlike Tom Riddle’s diary. A giant snake lives inside it.


Great Moments In Poop History

Today’s poop story comes from my friend Justin Halpern, author of Shit My Dad Says and the co-creator of Surviving Jack, which is very funny (I am biased) and hits TV this March. Here’s him shitting himself:

So, I got real sick a couple months back. Kind of sick where you're throwing up, and every fart feels like a coin flip. So, anyhow, I manage to down an orange gatorade (If Gatorades were the Miami Heat, Orange is the Mario Chalmers of Gatorades in that it sucks but it's never going away) and finally drift off to sleep. A while later I awake and something doesn't feel right. There's something wet and squishy under the sheets. I slowly pull the covers back in a Godfather-horse's-head-scene kind of way and reveal that I've shit myself in my sleep. Now, I'd shit myself as an adult once before, but that was when I was awake. And when you shit yourself when you're awake, your asshole alerts your brain almost as it's happening, as if to say "I'm really sorry about this, here's a heads up so you can get started on problem solving." But when you wake up to having shit yourself, it's like a big fuck you from your asshole and you have to run through all the stages of grief before you get to the "how do I clean this up?" Since I'm sick, the shit is the consistency of one of those Odwalla smoothies. I stand up from the bed and it starts to run down my leg. So in an effort to not have shit drip on to the floor, I rip off the sheets and I shove them in my ass crack, much like you might do if you were trying to stop a leak on a boat. So now I'm totally naked, with a sheet stuffed in my ass and hanging down on to the floor, like I'm wearing the bottom half of a horrific wedding gown. And as I waddle towards the bathroom I hear the bedroom door open and turn my head just in time to see my wife staring at me, mouth agape. Real litmus test for the relationship, that one.


Emmitt Smith's Lock of the Week!

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"For the Super Bowl, I like the Broncos (-2.5) to futile their density and beat the Saddle Seahawks in a grout! I think it's going to be very hard for Saddle to win without the Elf Man on their side! Their so used to the Elf Man eloquating their level of play! I just think it will be very hard for them to keep up with Peyton Manning (especially when he uses those "OMYGOD!" auditals!) on a neutron field! It's Peyton's time now. The Seahawks are young. Preexpealidocious. They'll be back. They remind me of our first Super Bone team in Dallas! Oh man, now I'm getting all nose algae. (chokes up) Hate it when I get nose algae."

Emmitt Smith 2013 record: 8-10-2

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 2013 chopping block:

Please remember that Roger Goodell praised Jimmy Haslam as a “man of great integrity” prior to this season, even when the whole world knows that guy is a fucking crook and can’t run the Browns for shit. Roger Goodell is the worst.


Gametime Snack Of The Week

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This bag of mystery meat, sent by Canadian reader Adam Carv. I’ll let him explain:

I was at a Farmers Market and saw this Cryovac package of meat displayed. I didn't bother asking what it was before saying "I'll take that 'Product X'". I then asked what it actually was, and was told that it was "Pulled Peamale Bacon" aka "Pulled Canadian Bacon" (which would be a different version of Pulled Pork).

I bought it in October (and froze it) and have been saving it for the Super Bowl party, so I can make a Poutine outta it with caramelized onions.


I would eat that poutine, sir. “Peamale” sounds like some kind of new vegan-based gender.

Gametime Cheap Beer Of The Week

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Unidentifiable Russian dogshit! From Damien:

Found in the foreign aisle at the supermarket. Had the aroma of wet Fancy Feast. Note the cheap, cancerous Russian plastic. The taste, when ice cold, was bearable. Three sips was quite enough.


This is what Putin will force-feed to you if you’re a foreign journalist in Sochi who takes a picture of an incomplete building. I MUST HAVE IT.

Robert Evans's MVP Watch!

Time to start thinking about who the leaders will be 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.

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"Baby, my favorite for NFL MVP is still Peyton Manning of the Broncos! Another fantastic Super Bowl party in the offing this weekend at Woodland! We make it a two-day affair. Long? YOU BET! Chicken wings in bodily orifices? LOTS. We always have an ex-NFL player or two show up. Alex Karras used to juggle the hookers. And Ed Too Tall Jones once punted Nicholson right in the nutsack! Nicholson didn’t even blink. He just looked Too Tall right in the eye and said, ‘Ed, that one had some leg on it.’”


Sunday Afternoon Movie Of The Week For Texans Fans

Her, which I really liked despite the fact that it scared me shitless. I mean, this is completely what will happen. All my kids will grow up and have sex with their goddamn operating systems. There’s no stopping it. One day I’m gonna walk in on my son and he’ll be tongue-bathing his Oculus. I’m not looking forward to it. By the way, the only thing missing from this movie is when ScarJo Windows tells the Yum! Brands food group about all of Joaquin Phoenix’s post-coital taco-eating habits. Because your virtual girlfriend will betray you like that.


Gratuitous Simpsons Quote

"What're you cackling at, fatty? Too much pie, that's your problem!"

Enjoy the Super Bowl, everyone.

Drew Magary writes for Deadspin and Gawker. He's also a correspondent for GQ. Follow him on Twitter @drewmagary and email him at drew@deadspin.com. You can also buy Drew's book, Someone Could Get Hurt, through his homepage.


Image by Jim Cooke; photos via Getty and Shutterstock.