Drew Magary's Thursday Afternoon NFL Dick Joke Jamboroo runs every Thursday during the NFL season. Email Drew here.
We spend a lot of time shitting on Roger Goodell here, and with good reason. Roger Goodell is annoying and stupid, and calling him childish names gives me great pleasure. But plenty of people will tell you that the nature of Goodell’s job means he’s SUPPOSED to get shit on constantly. The line of thinking is that an effective commissioner takes the heat for his owner bosses while helping them rake in lots of money. And all right, that’s fair. I see that viewpoint. I’m sure any goon that ends up taking Goodell’s place one day will end up bringing on his fair share of scorn.
BUT … you only need to look over at Adam Silver’s NBA to see that a commissioner doesn’t have to be some square-jawed bouncer guarding ownership’s velvet rope. In theory, a commissioner is meant to be a benevolent leader who always acts in the general interest of “the game” (Calling your sporting industry “the game” helps make it seem all magical and childlike, as if the sport is a glowing treasure tucked away in an enchanted music box). That’s a lie, of course. A commissioner is chiefly a lobbyist, therapist, and errand boy for ownership. He’s there to make sure no one fucks with the owners’ ability to make money, including the owners themselves.
But there’s a way to do that job and still not end up being a complete ass like Goodell. Here are some basics for what a decent commissioner ought to be able to do.
- They should be able to prevent one owner from fucking over other owners. This is how Silver was able to oust Donald Sterling from the NBA, even though Sterling was one of his bosses. Roger Goodell never would have done this. He gladly stands by crooks like Dan Snyder and Jimmy Haslam while they drag ownership’s reputation into the shitter.
- They should probably be a lawyer. How are you gonna negotiate a CBA if you’re not even a lawyer? I’m barely qualified to look over a Verizon phone contract. I have no business overseeing the finer points of mandated drug testing, and neither does a token baccalaureate degree-holder like Goodell.
- They should be able to delegate, particularly on disciplinary matters. Other leagues, like the NHL, have a discipline czar to act as the hammer for the commish. Goodell has taken it upon himself to mete out punishment on his own, which is both inefficient and stupid. The hammer should be the bad guy, while the hoity-toity commish floats above it all. That way, James Harrison isn’t always bitching about the top dog.
- They should keep a low profile. With the glaring exception of the past two weeks, fucking Goodell has been EVERYWHERE. He’s in the Heads Up PSAs. He presides over the draft. He goes on handshake tours like he’s running for President. WHY? None of that shit is necessary. The commissioner should be holed up in his stupid office for 18 hours a day and you should never hear from him except for when you buy a football and it’s got his signature on it. “Look at this! It’s got Goodells name on it! This ball is OFFICIAL.” I don’t know why Roger Goodell needs to be the public face of a sport when he has many, many charismatic players and coaches who can do that job. Goodell doesn’t even play! I don’t need to see him. Ever. Back when David Stern was running the NBA in the '80s, the league needed a strong force of personality to make it more prominent. That’s not needed with football now. I should see the commish at the draft, and that’s it. All the other work should be done behind the scenes, from chewing out rulebreakers to helping Jerry Jones bury his corpses.
- They shouldn’t turn a league into a cause. Goodell is an NFL lifer and fully indoctrinated into football culture, which posits that the sport is some kind of Greatest Generation mill that spits out men of high character and elevates society in the process. Football can never be that. You don’t have to go the full scumbag like Vince McMahon, but you don’t need to make promises about football that the sport can’t possibly keep. Under Goodell, the NFL has fashioned itself into its own nation and ruled itself accordingly. And now it is falling apart.
- They should invent cool new rules. Like the 5-point field goal and shit.
These are not hard demands. You can do all these things while still being the company stooge ownership would like you to be. Adam Silver is doing it. Maybe they should just hire his ass.
All games in the Jamboroo are evaluated for sheer watchability on a scale of 1 to 5 Throwgasms.
Broncos at Seahawks: This is too soon, man. I feel like the Broncos are being forced to testify in court with the murderer staring right at them.
By the way, they showed Peyton chewing out Julius Thomas last week on camera (Thomas scores all of the Broncos touchdowns; what’s Peypey so mad about?). Given the scandals clouding the NFL right now, it made me wonder which players have taken it upon themselves to beat on underperforming teammates. Like, I’m sure Jordan punched EVERYONE after a tough loss. I bet he made them all line up for a wet towel to the ass. Peyton is probably like that. And Marino, too. Marino probably slapped everyone silly. He was such a dick.
Chargers at Bills: Any hot Buffalo start is tempered by the fact that Chris Berman will immediately hop on the Bills bandwagon and ruin it for everyone. Once Berman starts spewing tired horseshit about circling the wagons, a rift opens in the sky and God reaches down to personally tear CJ Spiller’s ACL. Berman is why this team can’t have nice things.
By the way, during halftime of Colts/Eagles, Berman segued into the Adrian Peterson story by saying, “Far from the fun and games of yesterday’s games…” He’s got a real sense of the moment, that one.
Packers at Lions
Niners at Cardinals: I was going through security at the airport a couple of weeks ago when they pulled me aside randomly to wipe my hands and run the wipe through that chemical testing machine they keep nearby. So I’m standing there, looking at the machine, when suddenly it says EXPLOSIVES DETECTED. And I damn near shit my pants.
“Please come with me, sir.”
They wiped down my bags and clothes and stuff and it was all clean, except for my hands. I had explosive material on my hands. And now I’m freaking out that some deranged person has planted explosive material on my hands to set me up, possibly a St. Louis Cardinals fanboy or something. I did my best to stand there and look pasty and nonthreatening. I think I even made small talk, as if to say, “Hey guys, would a terrorist REALLY ask you about the weather?” They frisked me and I kept waiting for them to jam a finger up my asshole to look for some C4, but they never did. I was ready for it. I was ready to accept that fate. I was prepared to sacrifice my rectum for the good of the republic.
Anyway, turns out I set off the alarm because I had just pumped gas for the rental car before heading to the airport. The gas got on my hands. The machine can pick up that gasoline, and then you are in a world of shit. So now you know: Never buy gas.
Dan Snyder Chokes On Oiled Horse Cocks at Eagles: I heard a lady on the radio the other day defend LeSean McCoy leaving a shit tip by saying, “If you get bad service, you shouldn’t have to leave a tip.” Now, I hate bad service as much as anyone. Waiting an hour for food makes me want to destroy the sun. But if you get bad service, you still gotta tip the minimum of 15% (or 20% if you’re into it).
Read this article about tipping from the Dirt Candy lady. The whole tipping system is fucked up because it puts the onus on diners to provide a livable wage to waiters who should be on salary. And that shit gets pooled. If you don’t tip the minimum, then runners don’t get paid. Busboys don’t get paid. Other, less shitty waiters don’t get paid. The whole system breaks down. Just tip the minimum and then give extra when the service is kickass. I wonder how much waitresses hate the opening sequence of Reservoir Dogs. I bet they lost a lot of money in 1992.
Steelers at Panthers: Hey you, would you like to be depressed? I’ve got the place for you: the mattress store. Holy shit, why does the mattress store look like the exact kind of place where I would not want to lie on a mattress? Every mattress store looks like it’s been invaded by bottle flies.
Chiefs at Dolphins: PRO TIP: If you ever brush your hair when it’s bone dry, you will get the Marino Effect. It’s amazing. Some nights I’m giving my kid a bath, and I’ll grab a brush and start brushing it just to see how poofy it can get. And within five seconds, it’s 1981 all over again. SO MUCH BODY.
Titans at Bengals
Ravens at Browns
Vikings at Saints: True story: Right before the Vikings played the Patriots, I texted a friend and said, “I think they can still win without him!” And my friend texted back, “I agree! They’re not as reliant on him as they used to be.” That exchange really did occur. I must be the stupidest asshole in America. This team is garbage without Adrian Peterson. They will lose this game by 90 points. That’s not some kind of reverse jinx. I’m saying they will really lose this game by 90 points.
At this point, I’m just waiting for the next horrific NFL scandal to drop. We’ve covered animal cruelty, domestic violence, murder, and child abuse. The only thing left is animal rape. That’s the next thing.
GUY: Did you hear about Tom Brady?
YOU: No, what?
GUY: He’s a serial cat rapist.
GUY: Yeah, they just arrested him. There’s video.
YOU: Oh my God, that’s sickening (watches video anyway). Well, they gotta suspend him AT LEAST, like, eight games.
That’s the current state of the NFL. They got so good at producing offseason news that the offseason has now bled into the regular season and surpassed it in news value. The second the games end, I’m right back on Abuse Watch, waiting for Brady to start assaulting some cats. I’m barely paying attention to the gameplay when I watch now. I keep expecting a fucking bomb to go off.
Bucs at Falcons: By the way, it shouldn’t take a fucking football player doing something bad to get people talking about it. It’s not like domestic violence just became a problem recently. We gotta be a bit more proactive in dealing with this shit. “Guys, there is a real threat of asteroids hitting the Earth and wiping out humanity. But let’s not talk about it until Matt Ryan gets hit with a very small comet.”
Bears at Jets: This game is worth checking out if only to see how Jets fans shit all over Marty Mornhinweg. When the Jets take their first timeout, I would just scream out WHO THE FUCK CALLED TIMEOUT? and then stare at Marty if I were in the stands. I bet he’d totally get psyched out.
Cowboys at Rams: I watched a college game last weekend that was being played at Jerryworld and it was depressing as shit. No college game should ever be played in an NFL stadium. It ruins the whole thing. They need to play every college game on a campus, outside, with dozens of freshmen shitfaced in the bushes. Otherwise it feels like I’m watching arenaball.
Raiders at Pats: My team lost to the Pats last week and I can’t tell you how infuriating it is to see your team gets its shit owned by Julian fucking Edelman. Like, it’s one thing to get killed by Megatron. There’s no shame in that. But when some rinky dink fucker like Edelman or a scrub back like Samkon Gado beats my team down, I wanna start breaking plates.
Colts at Jaguars
Texans at Giants
“The Motherload,” from Mastodon. When I get these kids out of the house, I’m just gonna smoke pot all day and stare at Mastodon album covers. They come to life when you’re high. That’s scientifically proven. This song is awesome.
Last week’s picks of the Tampa, Tennessee, and Seattle went 0-3 (oops), making me 2-4 for the year. Time again to pick three teams for your suicide pool and one thing that makes you want to commit suicide. This week’s picks are New England, Indianapolis, New Orleans, and taking any small child to the eye doctor. I took my two-year-old to get his eyes checked a while back, and they had to give him drops to dilate his eyes. You gotta wait 45 minutes for the drops to work, and the kid’s eyes become super sensitive to light, so they give you old lady sunglasses to put on the kid (they reject these with good reason). I had to humor this kid for nearly an hour inside and outside of the waiting room, riding elevators and letting him play with the water fountain and all that.
Finally, he broke down and started screaming to go home. And I’m trying to get him to chill but it’s no use. He’s on the ground, writhing around and making a scene, and I’m looking at the nurses like will you please get the fucking doctor? So I pick the kid up and he just starts beating the shit out of me. He’s whacking me in the face and I’m holding him away but he can still reach, and now everyone can see me getting wrecked by this little fucker. He landed some serious crosses, too. It hurt.
Then they finally let us in and his stupid eyes were fine. He probably never needed to go to begin with. The eye doctor sucks. WHY DO WE EVEN NEED EYES?
Here is the worst thing Greggggggg wrote this week, as pointed out by pretty much all of Twitter:
Leading ninth-ranked USC by six points, mega-underdog Boston College had first-and-goal on the Trojans' 6-yard line with about 30 seconds remaining. Rather than try for an extra touchdown to run up the score, coach Steve Addazio did the dignified thing and had his charges kneel. That sportsmanlike kneel-down was the most exciting NCAA play TMQ has seen in years. (Kneel-downs can be manly man plays because sportsmanship is manly.)
Oh God, just shut up, will you? I want Adrian Peterson to beat this paragraph with a fucking riding crop. Not only is Gregg being pretentious when he says this, he is outright lying. No one is excited by a kneel down. Last year, Auburn won a game by returning a missed field goal for a touchdown with no time left on the clock. And you’re jacking off to a kneel down? OH IF ONLY EVERY GAME WAS SIMPLY A SERIES OF KNEEL DOWNS. Then it would be like church! Gregggggg should be dropped into a volcano.
“This week, I like the Balderdash Ravens (pick) to go into Cleveland and beat the Brouds! Such a shame about Ray Rice. I do not condom domestic violets, but I woodknot runch to judgment if I were you! Ray and his wife have returnstiled and are trying to work things out on their own! WHAT IF SHE EVOKED HIM? You can’t have it both ways! Again, I do not Redzone domenstic violets, but a man has a right to strand his gown! Let’s not go crazy and call it spouncil aboots!”
2014 Emmitt Smith record: 2-0
While the NFL is falling apart, did you know bats are attacking people? LOOK!
I’m still not alarmed though. I assume they only attack you if you’re some asshole trying to start a hoedown in the middle of the forest. Why is that one guy beating on a cornhole board? That’s not a real instrument. “Hey guys, I brought my tappin’ board! Let’s boogie!”
Brandon Marshall. You fucking asshole. Any player who is a gametime decision in a primetime game can eat shit. I got no other option except to bench you because everyone else will have played by the time you suit up on Sunday Night. Which means I gotta sit there like a fucking pud while you score THREE GODDAMN TOUCHDOWNS from my bench. GAHHHHHHH! Suspend this man.
Special mention to Peterson here, by the way. Because a man’s fantasy impact is what truly matters most here.
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 2014 chopping block:
(*potential midseason firing)
The Jets may have to end up canning poor Rex just so they can find someone who can hire a decent OC. I still can’t believe that timeout happened.
Reader GD sends in this story, which might be the worst story ever:
I had to have asshole surgery a few months ago. No fun way to spin that. There was quite a bit more involved with it, and I’m not sure that’s the medical term for the procedure, but you get the picture. I should also note that said asshole surgery did not go well, leading to a second asshole surgery a fortnight later. If you’d like to pause for a moment and thank whatever God you pray to that you’ve never had to have your balloon knot operated upon twice in two weeks, I don’t blame you.
Recovery from these surgeries was, well, shitty. In the weeks following them, I tried to limit my trips to the can to no more than one a day and only when I absolutely had to. Dropping a deuce in public was not an option because the standard technique you learned as a toddler was impossible. No, instead of sitting on the porcelain like a gentleman, I had to shit standing up. If you’ve never had to shit standing up, you’re not allowed to bitch about anything else as long as you live. Sadly, with the severe trauma to the left side of my butthole, I was able to perfect this act over the course of about three weeks. Perfection, that is, until the fateful day.
Home alone, sweating with fear of the upcoming agony, I scurried downstairs to the basement bathroom. I did this for two reasons: First, I didn’t want to subject the master bathroom to such tomfoolery, but mostly because the counter and sink reside on the left side, where the bulk of the trauma was. I would get completely naked from the waist down, hike up my left leg on the counter, and pull my left buttocks as far to the left as I could, thus reducing the friction as much as possible. Thankfully, I’m 6’3. If I were under 6’0, I probably would be dead right now, like the scene from Seven where that fat fuck ate himself to death. In the three weeks I had done this, I was about 19-for-20 with nary an issue, save for the constant humiliation. Only once had my depth perception failed me, leading to a small turd coming to rest on the rim of the toilet.
This day, however, would be different. You should also know that as a regular two-a-day pooper, limiting myself to one led to some rather massive payloads. This one, unfortunately, was a whopper. Just before the first piece of crap emerged, my right knee buckled ever so slightly. This sudden shift caused the first glob of mud to plummet directly on to my right ankle, where it stuck like a leech. Understandably panicked at seeing shit sticking to my leg, I overcorrected and proceeded to unload an absolute carpet bomb of dung ALL OVER the bathroom tile. After the first wave plopped loudly on the floor, I simply accepted my fate and finished the shit right there for fear of moving my foot into the mess.
And the mess, my friend, was fucking mighty. I’ll leave the tale at that. I don’t think I can possibly begin to paint the picture of just how far and wide this crap extended; hint: stool softeners were in play and I have a big appetite. Just know that this was the last time I ever pooped while standing, simply because the physical agony could never top the mental anguish that mishap brought me.
Pillsbury Cinnamon rolls! Goddamn, I love these things. You gotta eat them right when they come out of the oven, though. After 10 minutes, they revert to being cold industrial hardtack made out of sea algae hormones. But in that small window where they are viable, they’re so fucking good. I can eat the whole pan and still feel unsatisfied. I want to live inside a cinnamon roll. Just shrink me down and place me inside a warm cinnamon roll and I can forget about this crazy world.
Diablo Super Strong! From Chris:
I just came back from a two week vacation in Burma, where I had the privilege of drinking "El Diablo Super Strong Brew," which is advertised as 12%. The can claims that it is manufactured in Mexico for export only, but it turns out that it is actually brewed in Indonesia. For a 12% beer in a half liter can that set me back less than $2.00, I was actually surprised. It wasn't too bad. If I ever watch football again in SE Asia, I will definitely grab some.
Save a case for me! I love any beer that loudly announces its ABV right on the front of the can. No pussyfooting. Ever had to search for the ABV when all you wanna do is get shitfaced? It’s terrible. God bless El Diablo for making it easier to drink yourself to rapid incontinence.
Time to start thinking about this season's candidates for the NFL's MVP award. Every week, legendary Hollywood producer Robert Evans will join us to give us his assessment. Take it away, Mr. Evans.
"Baby, my favorite for MVP is Philip Rivers of the Chargers! Now, I know people are talking a lot about beating children these days. Did Evans ever lay a hand on his children? I’D MAKE SLIVER 2 BEFORE I WOULD EVER LET THAT HAPPEN. Why spank a child when you can hand him a cool glass of Champers and have a good laugh instead? Three-year-olds love the bubbly!
“But know this: plenty of talented actors out there got had their talent spanked right into them! It’s true! A good stage mother can crack her belt and produce at least two Oscar trophies if she whips hard enough. Seen it time and again. Glendale. 1943. I’m starring in a knockoff Little Rascals movie with Mickey Rooney called The Scamps. And everyone on set feared Mrs. Rooney. Violent? YOU BET! Stems that would make you beg for mercy? ROONEY’S MOM WAS A STUNNER! Any time Mick flubbed a line, she would be on him like a coiled snake, hissing and biting! Yes, she bit him! None of us stopped her. Biting kids was perfectly normal at the time! And I would hear Mick screaming out STOP MOM STOP I JUST WANT TO LOVE YOU, and she would walk away and leave him a crumpled mess on the floor of the set. And then, a minute later, Mick would stand up and do the best spilled milk bit you ever saw! MOVIE MAGIC AT ITS FINEST.”
Guardians of the Galaxy. More women should walk around in green paint. It’s shockingly attractive. I want my wife to paint herself green now and I don’t quite know how to broach the subject.
Enjoy the games, everyone. I mean, if you can.
Drew Magary writes for Deadspin. He's also a correspondent for GQ. Follow him on Twitter @drewmagary and email him at firstname.lastname@example.org. You can also buy Drew's book, Someone Could Get Hurt, through his homepage.
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