Drew Magary's Thursday Afternoon NFL Dick Joke Jamboroo runs every Thursday during the NFL season.
I know we've covered all the reasons why Patriots fans are horrible in the past. And yet, I feel as if the subject remains inexhaustible, like Robert Caro exploring the life of Lyndon Johnson. There's just so much ground to cover here, and every year, Pats fans manage to outdouche themselves.
Take last week, for instance, when Pats fans roundly booed their own team for daring to keep the Jets in the game and Simmons produced this pussy runoff of a column that featured fatalistic emails from Patriots fans:
The Patriots with a one score lead give me the same feeling as A-Rod batting in the 9th inning.
Oh hey, a baseball analogy. Never saw that coming. Why do you people even WATCH football if you're just gonna spend all day baseballicizing it?
In February of 2005 Tom Brady was 27 years old, had three Super Bowls, and was coming into [h]is prime. Now he's 35, still has three Super Bowls and is exiting his prime. How is this possible? Trading 80% of your first round picks is a start. Wasted prime.
-Muzz, Woburn MA
That's a real email. Some fuckhead from Wooooooobuhn sat down and wrote that with 100 percent sincerity. POOR YOU. Tom Brady didn't win the seven Super Bowls you think he should have won because you had a few bad drafts. Truly, you are the longest of long-suffering fanbases. Never mind that you came within two plays of having FIVE Super Bowls, one as recently as eight goddamn months ago. No, no ... now you're snakebitten, am I to understand that correctly? FUCK YOU. Wasted prime? You won two conference titles! I'd fucking KILL for that. But to a shitheel Pats fan it's just: "Meh. Not a fackin' title. TOTAL WASTE."
And then there's Simmons's own contribution to this repulsive pity party:
I didn't even mention our Hall of Fame QB, who now takes two intentional groundings a game, throws it into traffic in the red zone and randomly ducks during pass plays even when nobody is behind him.
WAHHHHHHHHH FUCKING WAHHHHHHHHH. Your Hall of Fame QB, who is still markedly better than just about every other NFL quarterback, sometimes make mistakes now! OH THE FUCKING HORROR. Meanwhile, people in Cleveland have to watch Brandon Weeden from their bonfire shanties.
You Pats fans have First World Sports Problems. You've been treated to a fucking DECADE of uninterrupted excellence and you dare ask for sympathy when your team—which is still an obvious AFC favorite, mind you—reverts ever so slightly to the mean? DIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. DIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIE. You are all horrible people. I know you want every second of your fan experience to be some kind of Russian novel, but it isn't. You root for a really good team that's been really good for a really long time. So don't expect the rest of us to hand you tissues just because you're sad that the Patriots won in underwhelming fashion. I hope your stupid team loses a million billion games in the new decade. And I hope typhoid runs rampant in Gillette Stadium and it needs to be demolished for disinfectant purposes.
Pretty sure somewhere Tom Brady just ducked for no reason. What's the over/under on the number of games before he gets shipped to KC or San Diego?
-Dr. Jeff, Narragansett
OH MY FUCKING GOD. All of you, kill yourselves.
All games in the Jamboroo are evaluated for sheer watchability on a scale of 1 to 5 Throwgasms.
Giants at Cowboys: We need to do something about the storm-warning graphics posted by local affiliates. The graphics take up 80 percent of the available screen space. Whenever one pops up during a game, I try to duck below the TV to see if I can see PAST the graphics. All for a goddamn rain alert. Half the time, the rain doesn't even hit your town. But no, let's just go ahead and plaster an alert the size of a nuclear-strike warning across the screen for 10 minutes because six people in East Scuttlefuck County are gonna get two inches tonight. AND WHY IS THERE A RADAR MAP ON THE SCREEN? I don't need all this. You people are punishing viewers at home just to validate your own soon-to-be-extinct weatherman jobs. Can we just replace meteorologists with on-camera iPhones already? I don't need this much of a weather alert.
Falcons at Eagles: I bet people who quit watching football this season still watch movies all the time, conveniently ignoring the fact that STUNTMEN DIE. Yeah, you never thought of that, did you, Mr. High and Mighty?
By the way, our own David Roher compiled a whole historical record book of fantasy awards that I'll be fapping to for the rest of the day. Do enjoy.
Saints at Broncos: I have to vote the week after next, and whenever I go to the polls, all I do is ask a nearby volunteer standing outside the electioneering area to give me a sample ballot showing me everyone I'm supposed to vote for. I bet those sample ballots handed out by Democrats and Republicans probably do more to help candidates win than any other form of political advertising. You could spend a billion dollars on a bunch of ads no one will pay attention to. But hand me a flyer that cost a tenth of penny that tells me whom to vote for, like the good sheep that I am? GOLD.
Redskins at Steelers: Apart from my own team, I'm pretty sure there's no other team I'd rather watch play right now than the Redskins. They could put every RG3 game in primetime and I wouldn't put up a fuss. It doesn't even matter if they go 6-10. Watching RG3 play is fucking awesome.
Seahawks at Lions: A friend of ours recently got a dog, and people who get dogs fail to understand that their dog causes every other family around to get Dog Fever, which is 10 times more powerful than Baby Fever. One glimpse of a new dog and your kids will bitch for YEARS to get one. My wife went up to me the other day.
HER: Maybe we should get them a pet.
ME: No. Fucking. Way.
HER: Not a dog. Just a little pet. Like a fish.
ME: Don't you get it, woman? A fish is a gateway pet. You get a fish, then the fish becomes a hamster, and then the hamster becomes a guinea pig, and then the guinea pig becomes a dog. All in the span of three months. You get a fish, you may as well get the dog and then kill yourself.
HER: All right, all right! You don't have to be such a dick about it.
ME: Yes, I do. Because dickishness is the only antidote to Dog Fever. NO DOGS. YOU WILL ALL WAIT 20 YEARS UNTIL WE GET ONE.
Panthers at Bears: Halloween is next week. But if you have kids, you know that Halloween essentially started a week ago, because people jump the gun on Halloween all the fucking time. People in offices put out candy dishes on Oct. 1. Neighbors boo each other. Some people have Halloween-themed birthday parties with shitloads of candy sitting out. Halloween has been stretched out into the monthlong candykakke that will soon murder all of our endocrine systems. By the time actual Halloween is around, I've stuffed enough candy inside me that you could beat me with a broomstick and have 800 rolls of Smarties come spilling out.
By the way, I'm always on the lookout for new Halloween candy. If they make a fun size of that new caramel Milky Way, I'm jumping on that like a trampoline. Those peanut butter Snickers squares are also quickly climbing the rankings. When I see one in a Halloween bag, I grab that shit immediately. The kids don't even notice when I rob them blind. SUCKERS.
Dolphins at Jets: God, I love Yahoo's automated fantasy-game writeups, like this from my league from two weeks ago:
Makes my team's win feel so much more official to see it written up. And better writing than SportsGrid! Can't argue with that. Next year, I'm totally calling my team "My Manpussy." I won't even care if I lost every game.
Chargers at Browns: If you're stuck in a meeting or a class waiting for a doctor, I strongly recommend whipping out a pen and spelling your name in block letters. It makes you feel like a superstar. I spent half my academic career writing out my name and the name of my fictional metal band—DRAGONSLAYER—in block letters. It never gets old. LOOK AT HOW THICK THE LETTERS ARE. THAT'S TREMENDOUS.
Colts at Titans: There was some kind of food festival in the area last week, and so I went with my kids. And every time I go to something like this, I always forget about the possibility of crowds. Not once does it occur to me that there will be nowhere to park, and that five million other assholes will show up because they also have nothing better to do.
I got to the festival and there was a giant blinking sign that read "PARK HERE FOR SHUTTLE BUS TO EVENT." I don't think event planners understand how averse people are to taking parking shuttles. I'd rather lose a finger than ever have to stand there like a jackass and wait for a parking shuttle. I turned that car around instantly.
49ers at Cardinals: I really hate it when broadcasters use the term "young man" to describe any player. THIS YOUNG MAN HAS SUCH A BRIGHT FUTURE. You know what? You're not his coach. Or his dad. Or his headmaster. You're a guy in a booth. And he's another guy out on the field. Don't try to pull seniority on him. That's horseshit. YOU OLD MEN HAVE A LOT TO LEARN IF YOU WANT TO MAKE IT AS NATIONAL FOOTBALL LEAGUE BROADCASTERS.
By the way, Frank Gore has some serious skull cellulite. Like a head full of cottage cheese. Some people need hair.
Raiders at Chiefs: When he wasn't busy doing his whole "Baseball is so magic, you guys! How can you not love my Cards?" shit, Leitch took a moment last week to do an excellent writeup on the new Nets arena in Brooklyn:
The sightline onto the court is fine, but the angle is so steep, we found ourselves a bit terrified. It honestly felt like we were about to go down a ski slope.
I think one of the modern miracles of sports is that drunk people don't go tumbling down the upper deck stairway every week. I sat in the nosebleeds at the old Yankees Stadium once and all I could think was I'm gonna fall. I'm gonna slip on a peanut shell and go plummeting down the aisle, smashing my face on every step on the way down. Steep stadium seats are scary as shit.
Jaguars at Packers: I fucking hate that Ray Lewis Visa ad, where Ray-Ray gets all pissy that some reporter is actually asking him a difficult question, and then I'm supposed to be happy that some little girl walks up and asks him what his favorite fucking rainbow is or whatever. Screw that. Ray Lewis should be asked difficult questions 12 hours a day.
Bucs at Vikings: Sometimes, if I'm watching a game on the DVR, I'll press down on the skip button too hard or too long or something, and then it fast forwards all the way to NOW, and then I react as if I've just been stabbed. NONONONONO! TOO FAR! I DON'T WANT TO KNOW! LOOK AWAY!! Then I have to scramble to go back without ever looking at the score and praying I don't spoil it for myself. I am good at technology.
Rams vs. Patriots (in London): Lance Armstrong got stripped of his seven Tour de France titles this week. Denying history is a practice that, in America, is restricted almost exclusively to the world of sports. And even more amazing is that people almost always go along with it. Whoa hey, he got stripped of his titles! I guess he's officially dead to me now. It's a powerful thing, to strip someone of a sports title. Somehow, it has a broad-ranging impact on the culture despite the fact that stripping away a title doesn't really do anything. It doesn't rid you of a memory. It doesn't give you any more information than you already had. It's merely a direction, a command to everyone to forget all about this piece of nasty business. That's quite a trick to pull off, which is why we need to strip people of shit more often.
I wish we could strip records and titles from people outside of the sports world. After all, Lance Armstrong's disgrace has been in the works for years. I'm looking for bigger game. I'd like to see us begin stripping people of presidencies and Nobel Prizes and sexual conquests. If historians could find a way of stripping Warren Harding of his presidency—of vacating his years leading the country from the history books—then I think we'd be onto something. I don't know why vacating things is strictly the domain of sports and the Grammys and the Politburo. I see no reason why you shouldn't dump a terrible girlfriend by declaring to her: "I'm going to have to strip you of your three consecutive years as my one true love. Melanie down the street will now claim those titles. YOU WHORE." In general, it's always good to try and erase historical events, because THEN NOTHING BAD WILL EVER HAPPEN AGAIN.
"Healer," by Torche. Reader Jordo:
Think QOTSA's "Go w/ the Flow" with a gay lead singer. Torche's whole catalog is riff-tastic.
I can get on board with that. This is legitimately good shit. MOAR TORCHE PLEEZ.
Lots of sports sites, to demonstrate the arbitrary nature of gambling, like to have animals and random celebrities pick games to see if they can outwit their expert counterparts. There's no reason we at Deadspin can't also get in on the fun. So we've asked a fictionalized, Nazi version of popular sportswriter Bill Simmons to pick one game a week for us. Take it away, Nazi Simmons.
"This week, I like the Falcons getting 2.5 points on the road against the Eagles. By all means, Vegas, keep giving the Eagles too much credit. We really appreciate it. These Jews who set the lines in Vegas are so lazy, you know? They think they can just swindle good white Christians out of their money by setting these ridiculous point spreads. Go ahead and keep doing it, Vegas. Keep talking yourself into the Eagles by two-and-a-half. Soon I'll have enough of your gelt to buy ESPN and finally make Jew House—my reality-show idea about 16 Jews living together in one house, with one being killed by audience vote at the end of every week—a real show. Look for David Jacoby to write recaps of Jew House every week over at Fatherland!"
2012 Nazi Simmons record: 2-4
Matt Stafford, who salvaged a terrible game on Monday night with a touchdown pass in garbage time. But still, holy shit has he fallen off the face of the Earth. He and Cam Newton should just walk around wearing t-shirts that say, "I'M SORRY, AMERICA."
As for Chris Johnson, reader Danny says:
I was burned by him last year and smartly avoided him in the draft this year. So far this year, it has brought me great joy to see him suck the life out of another team. Like I did last year, this year's owner has tried to pawn Johnson off on anyone stupid enough to take him. I happily refused multiple times, telling the team's owner what an idiot he was for taking Johnson in the draft. I finally got to play this guy in Week 7, who only started Johnson because four other players were on bye. Johnson rushes for 2 TDs and 195 yards and destroys my team. What an asshole.
I hope that Gregggggg spends this week picking apart half of the Criminal Minds oeuvre. Why doesn't that show feature more people being searched in airport terminals?
Last night the final presidential debate and "Monday Night Football" aired simultaneously. Sports nuts and political junkies were torn.
Because those two groups have so much in common!
Why not combine the events? This is what "Monday Night Football" would sound like if it used a presidential debate format:
I'm gonna spare you Gregggggg's comedy routine here. Suffice it to say, it took the crab cake.
"Inexcusable" seems the word for the disintegration of the Detroit Lions... Detroit players continue to dance and strut as if they were holding the Lombardi Trophy, when in fact they reside in the cellar.
Sounds like an acute case of GLORYBOYISM. As always, Greggg would like to note that losing teams lose because they are bad people, and not simply because they play poorly. I'm sick of all this me-first dancing and strutting and cock-walking. WHO DO THESE YOUNG MEN THINK THEY ARE?!
They have invested recent first- and second-round choices in tailbacks Jahvid Best and Mikel Leshoure, both perennially injured.
The lesson, as always: NEVER take anyone in the first or second round. You're just asking for it, frankly.
TMQ readers are aware that one of my bête noirs is action movies with air shafts large enough to hold car washes and drive-through burger joints.
Other TMQ bêtes noires:
• People who stay out past midnight
• Mainstream media people who failed to pick up on TMQ's expose of the Winnipeg Observatory's wasteful spending practices
• More Jews
That a team receiving the opening kickoff and scoring a field goal on that possession can end the contest with a recovered onside kick is a little-known quirk of the new NFL overtime format.
But TMQ knew! He knows all the little things that you, YOU DISGUSTING FAT MASSES, fail to notice. Aren't you glad he's here to show you the way? Bow down before your Football God God.
What coach will be the first bold enough to try this?
Uh ... none of them, because it's still almost certainly better to kick off?
Houston just chewed up the Baltimore offense, holding Joe Flacco to a 45.4 passer rating, barely north of the 39.6 rating an NFL quarterback receives if every one of his passes clangs to the ground incomplete.
CLANGGGGGG! I think we all know that a ball bouncing off Field Turf sounds exactly like a tuning fork being dropped on a bathroom floor.
Andy Ashkar of Camillus, N.Y., was revealed to have won $5 million in a lottery six years ago, and to have waited till the last possible moment to claim the prize. According to the Syracuse Post-Standard, Ashkar feared the huge sum "would negatively influence his life." He claimed the money only after deciding to split it with his brother Nayel. Andy Ashkar, congratulations for making a spiritually sophisticated decision.
Gregg Easterbrook, GOD OF THE LOTTERY GODS, applauds your restraint and has now instructed the Lottery Gods to stock your home with many tasteful books, including all of the ones written by Gregg himself.
By the way, why didn't Andy take the money right away and then invest it in some kind of locked fund so that it would grow? Or is that not spiritual?
Next summer's "Man of Steel" is a reboot of the 2006 "Superman Returns," which did not even have the dignity to be a reboot, instead being a remake of the 1978 "Superman: The Movie."
It was a sequel to the Richard Donner Superman movies, not a remake. Such errors are my bête noire. ISN'T IT FUN TO NITPICK, GREGGGGGG?
Cleveland trailed 17-13 and faced fourth-and-1 on the Indianapolis 41 halfway through the fourth quarter. When the punt boomed, TMQ wrote the words "game over" in his notebook.
One day I'm gonna steal that notebook and find that it just says "GAME OVER" written in crayon over and over again.
Last week's picks of the Oakland, New England, and Buffalo went 2-1, putting me at 13-8 for the season. Again we pick three teams for your suicide pool and something that makes you want to commit suicide. This week, the picks are Green Bay, Chicago, San Francisco, and MSNBC's print ads. Look at these things.
If you people want to run for office, run for office. You aren't a bunch of elder statesmen.
Reader Ken sends in this story:
I used to live in Tallahassee Florida, which is an armpit and home to every awful insect imaginable. Because of the heat and humidity, the roaches grow to epic sizes and they fly. After a hard night's rain, they run all over the streets. One late night while home alone, I spied a toaster oven-sized roach scurrying around what passed for our living room. I immediately sprang into action and made a mad dash to assassinate him. I hit him once pretty hard, but a large Florida roach is remarkably athletic and this one scampered off and hid out. I searched around but couldn't find him.
Having lived around them a long time, I knew I hadn't seen the last of this bug. I didn't finish the job. He would come back when I least expect it to seek revenge. I became really paranoid and convinced the roach would climb into my bed that night. I know that sounds nuts but I actually kept the light on and couldn't fall asleep. A little after 2 am, I don't know what caused me to glance over at the edge of my mattress, but there they were, two wiggling antenna. I jumped out of bed, and sure enough, there was the roach, just as I'd crazily imagined. I've never felt so vindicated and panic-stricken. I immediately beat him to death, flushed his body and slept like a baby.
That roach had a good plan but I was one step ahead. Roaches will seek revenge.
This is why Florida must be destroyed.
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 potential 2012 chopping block:
• Mike Holmgren (FIRED!)
• Marty Hurney (FIRED!)
• Norv Turner
• Mike Munchak
• Chan Gailey
• Jason Garrett
• Greg Schiano
• Jim Schwartz
• Pete Carroll
• Rex Ryan
• Romeo Crennel
• Pat Shurmur
• Ron Rivera
• Mike Shanahan
• Andy Reid
(*-possible midseason firing)
Even though the Jets are terrible, I kinda think Rex Ryan might not get fired at the end of this year. I mean, they have no business being competitive with anyone, and yet they easily could have beaten New England if Antonio Cromartie or Stephen Hill could catch a fucking ball.
In other news, here's a quote from Chargers GM and noted penis AJ Smith this week:
"Obviously we cannot play as a team. We appear to not be able to handle adversity or finish games. Individual and team confidence appears to be going south. In the next 10 games, we will either rally and see a slow, steady rise from the ashes to a division championship, or the beginning of a new era in Chargers football."
A friend of mine who likes the Chargers says: "This is great because he's acting as if that new era will also employ him. FUCK HOLE, HE IS."
Kitchen-sink cookies. They had these at my neighborhood Halloween party last year and I plowed through half the Tupperware container. I am a cum dumpster for cookies. I never stop eating them.
By the time we had to go trick-or-treating for real, I was already stuffed and on the verge of nausea. But did that stop me from eating candy? IT DID NOT. I bravely plowed through and ate enough Snickers Minis to make my heart explode. I'm a healthy person.
Cave Creek Chili Beer! Reader Patrick sends in this spicy dogshit from the bullet-ridden wasteland of Arizona.
Originally brewed in Arizona, now moved to Mexico, this spicy brew features a Serrano Pepper that is "hand-dropped" into every bottle.... Got to question the hygiene of this process a little, AMIRITE?
I have always been suspicious of a beer that has on its package "Best When Served EXTREMELY Cold". I found that this is because at any other temperature, it is undrinkable. Curiously foamy, REALLY spicy, and has an aftertaste that puts one in mind of hangover fueled by Taco Bell... Not a good thing.
When I went to U. Michigan for a semester, there was a Taco Bell near campus that I used to go to every day. And every day, I would get a bean burrito because it was the cheapest thing on the menu and I didn't have much free cash on me. To this day, the idea of eating one more Taco Bell bean burrito makes me wanna throw up. So many beans. It really does feel like you're eating out someone's ass after a while. Oh, and this beer looks horrid. I MUST HAVE IT.
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.
"Baby, my favorite for NFL MVP is still Robert Griffin III of the Redskins! A lot of people are talking about the fabulous Lana Wachowski this week. Talented? YOU BET! Born with a penis? ABSOLUTELY. But let me tell you, ol' Lana isn't exactly a trailblazer in the world of tranny directors. Let me tell you a little story about John Waters. Strange guy. Always made sure there were two 500-pound women flanking him everywhere he went. I know a lot of people think of John as a kind of zany uncle type, but I think he was deeply disturbed. One night at Woodland, he opened up his briefcase for me and there was a dead rabbit inside.
"'Isn't that crazy?' he asked me.
"'Sure, John,' I said. 'Now, why don't we do some normal things, like snort some blow and make it with a couple of starlets in a tub of Hershey's Syrup?'
"But John wasn't interested, of course. He only liked albino pre-teen boys. He pulls me to into a corner and tells me he wants to show me something. Now, I was hoping that John would consider directing a musical version of Citizen Kane I had lined up called Citizen Can-Can. It would have been BIG. Instead, Waters pulls down his skinny suit pants and all I see is a tuft of hair and what looks like a butterflied chicken breast.
"'The hell is that?' I ask.
"'It's my new vag!' Waters screams. 'Isn't that OUTRAGEOUS?'
"Turns out ol' John got his genitals re-done every year, just for the sake of kitsch. He's a man in odd years, a woman in even years. Last time he took his pants down at my house, it looked like a giant melanoma. I won't be inviting him back."
The Color of Money. This movie has the shittiest ending of any movie ever. (SPOILER AHEAD) I spent two hours waiting for Newman and Cruise to face off, and when Newman finally breaks, the movie ENDS. What in the living fuck? You guys have some nerve.
"I've just enrolled in the screenwriting class. I yearn to tell the story of an idealistic young Hindu, pushed too far by convenience store bandits. I call it 'Hands Off My Jerky, Turkey'."
Enjoy the games, everyone.