What current athlete would make the best Batman? Is there also an athlete archetype that may tend to fit better?
You have to pick a UFC fighter because Batman's primary job is to disarm criminals, beat the shit out of them, and then brood all day about the scourge of evil in the world and how no one man can stop it all, nor can that one man fill the hole left in his heart with sweet vengeance (wahhhhh wahhhhh). As good as LeBron James is at basketball, it's not like he's specifically trained for that sort of thing. You need someone who is lean and compact and sturdy and can fit into tight suits and Batjets easily. So it's much better to go with Cain Velasquez or some other MMA hotshot that can put the Joker in an arm bar and wrest away the detonation remote.
But picking a fighter is an easy answer. If we're going strictly by athletes from the big four sports, I'm picking an NFL linebacker or safety, specifically one trained in the martial arts (like Clay Matthews, for example). They're less bulky than linemen, and they have a taste for blood! You need Batman to be PHYSICAL. I'd take Matthews or LaRon Landry over some dipshit baseball player, no matter how good a pitcher might be with a Batarang. I'm not entrusting the Batsuit to some country music-listening hayseed.
(NOTE: If any of you suggest Tom Zbikowski for the job, I will fucking punch you.)
Should the Eagles/Packers have let the Saints/49ers score a touchdown with 2 minutes left? It was their only hope.
Well, that assumes that the Niners and/or Eagles would comply and score with time left, and both of those teams are probably too smart to ever fall for it. The Packers/Eagles would have had to hope that someone on the other team would pull an Ahmad Bradshaw and score on impulse. It's easier to get a team to do this at the goal line—with a touchdown so close by—than from the 14-yard-line, which is where the Saints made their game winning kick. If you lie down on the 14 and let Mark Ingram through, he's probably got enough time to figure out what kinda shit you're trying to pull. It may be your only hope, but it can also make the outcome even more assured.
In the case of the Packers, you saw how close Davon House was to blocking that kick (even if he was offside). In the frigid weather, I'd take my chances on a botched snap or hold rather than try to trick Frank Gore into scoring. You're losing either way.
What exactly constitutes a bandwagon fan? Is it the lack of physical proximity to the team? Is it the amount of time one has rooted for a particular team in relation to the team's success? Or is it the number of times the fan has gone to see the team play? For the record, I am writing this record to see if I fall into the bandwagon category.
I think that the average bandwagon fan is defined as someone who only takes an interest in a team when that team has a good chance of winning it all, and someone who will not admit to this fact. You can start out as a bandwagon fan and then turn into a legit fan. For example, I think a lot of younger Cowboys fans started out rooting for the team in 1990s, when they were winning titles, and then stuck with the team as it spiraled down into hilarious mediocrity over the past two decades. Even if you aren't from Dallas and you started out as a bandwagon fan, if you've watched every game since then and stuck with the team, your fandom is now legit. You're a TERRIBLE person, but I won't question your fan cred.
People choose their favorite team for various reasons, and dominance during their childhood is one of them. The origins of your fandom don't necessarily make you a bandwagoner for life; it's what you do afterward that earns you the brand. If you flit between teams depending upon whether or not they're winning, you're a bandwagon fan (and probably a famous actor or hip hop artist). If you're a suburban mom who only talks to their kids about sports when the local team happens to be making a run, you're a bandwagon fan. If you decided that you love the Miami Heat just when they happened to acquire LeBron, and you pretend like you were always a fan of them, you're a bandwagon fan. Those are the people who deserve to be spat upon and ridiculed. Those are the people trying to conveniently mooch off a bit of title glory for themselves. We want fans to EARN their happiness. We don't want them cutting in at the last second to hoist the trophy.
This is why Yankees fans get shit on so often. People who move to New York become self-appointed New Yorkers very quickly (almost by necessity—you have delude yourself into loving New York to tolerate living there), and adopting the Yankees is often part of that transformation. God, they're fucking terrible people.
What happens if someone murders one of President Obama's dogs? I saw a photo of them posing by the Washington Monument. If someone snipes them there, do they get charged with murder like you would of a human? Terrorism?
I don't think you can technically charge Bo's assassin with murder. But if we're talking about the President's dog, you can rest assured that Federal prosecutors would charge the killer with every feasible crime: animal cruelty, possession of a firearm, illegal discharging of a firearm, conspiracy, terrorism, attempted murder of the president himself (if he happens to be nearby), disturbing the peace, etc. And a judge will throw down the maximum sentence and/or fine in every instance. When the feds want to throw the book at you, rest assured they will find a way. That's how it works. They tailor their charges to how big of a cock you are.
In DC, cruelty to animals "resulting in serious bodily injury or death is a Felony with a fine of up to $25,000 and/or imprisonment up to 5 years." No way Bo's killer gets only five years. The general public would want that fucker's head on a stick. A little creative prosecuting and BOOM! Life sentence for animal racketeering or something.
What if every field goal taken from inside the 35-yard line HAS to be kicked from the 35? A fifty yard field goal is still from fifty yards, but a kick from the 15 has to be moved back twenty yards. A forty-five yard field goal isn't insanely more difficult, but it's enough to make it more interesting.
It is more interesting—it probably would have forced the Niners to go for the touchdown on Sunday night—but it's inherently unfair. The reward for getting your team closer to the goal line is that field goals get progressively easier, and it should be that way. A team that advances to the ten deserves a shorter field goal that some dipshit offense that can't even make it to the red zone. So I can't go with you on this. If you want a kickass rule change to football, it's gotta be rational. For example, if you made every PAT from the 35-yard-line, now we're talking. I fucking hate the PAT.
My wife and I have an 11-week-old, and we rarely eat dinner together on account of one of us is is always feeding, changing, cleaning, burping, tending to the baby. Last night, my wife finishes her meal, and tells me to use the same plate she used (I guess to save room in the dishwasher?), to which I promptly replied, "No, that's gross". She informed me know that we made a baby together, and I'm being immature. Naturally, I respond "Farts and Boobies!" Now we were eating lasagna that night, and her plate looked like a bunnies were slaughtered on it, very messy. Am I wrong?
Whatever floats your boat. Personally, I would have just eaten off my old lady's plate to prevent dishwasher crowding. At the end of the night, these goddamn kids have gone through so many plates and cups and spoons that the dishwasher is ready to suffer an inguinal hernia. It's more crowded than a fucking nightclub in there. I have to muscle plates into one another just to get one last cup to fit. So one plate less can make the difference between winning and losing.
But I'm extremely lax about foods touching each other. My old lady will eat some lasagna and then have salad on a separate salad plate, like civilized folk. Not me. I dump that salad right onto the lasagna bits. Helps sop up the last of the ricotta dingleberries sitting there. MMMM... LASAGNA SALAD.
By the way, I went to a parenting class once and 90% of the questions asked by my classmates revolved around eating. When you're a single person, you think nothing about eating. Seems easy. You sit down. You eat. There you go. One of the hardest things to adjust to as a parent is how fucking HARD kids make eating. They eat nothing. They never stay seated. They piss and moan about everything. It's AWFUL. There are nights when my wife will start crying because dinner has been such a fucking train wreck. It's stressful, and we're talking about EATING! One of the easiest, most pleasurable human experiences. Anyway, my teacher said that you should never expect kids to sit for long at the dinner table. And I've tried to accept that. But man, when your kids have eaten and excused themselves before you've even had a chance to salt your food, it makes you so, so pissed.
If you were capable of storing all of your feces throughout a lifetime, how much space do you think it would take up? For instance, do you think it would be enough to fill my ex's bedroom?
According to Men's Health, the average man excretes 360 pounds of shit per year, but that's weight and not volume. That volume will vary wildly depending on your body size and how many tacos you eat, but this random website (which couldn't even spell the word "bowel" correctly) says 1200 cubic centimeters per day. That's over a liter of shit per day, which seems high, but whatever. Average male life expectancy is 76 years here in the US (or 27,740 days), which would give you 33,288,000 CCs of poop in your lifetime, or 33,288 liters of shit. For a visual, 30,000 liters is enough to fill this tanker truck. So yes, you could probably take up your ex's bedroom with a lifetime of stored excrement. I wish you luck.
Let's say the team you root for is on the road that week and you decide to go to the game. Also, you choose to go shirtless with your entire upper body painted your team's colors. You are the only one doing so, by the way. Before halftime your team is getting crushed with no chance of coming back and you look ridiculous. Do you stick it out for the rest of the game with no shirt looking like an idiot or do you puss out and put your shirt back on only to be ridiculed even more by the home team fans?
There's no chance you put your shirt back on. You either stick it out (likely because you are drunk and shameless anyway), or you leave. This is why very few people paint their bodies alone. You almost always do this with a group. It's a protective measure. If you win, it looks festive. If you get crushed, you can at least goof on each other for the rest of the game about what a disaster it turned out to be.
When I was in college, a couple of friends on the football team (not really friends!) pranked me by telling me that they were gonna paint their bodies for an upcoming hockey game, and they asked if I wanted to do it with them. I said yes, of course. They told me I was gonna be the "C" in COLBY and that I should meet them at the rink with the C already painted on my belly (Any other sane person would have been tipped off immediately at this point, but I was desperate to be liked). So I go to my room. I draw a big C on my chest and belly, I go to the arena, find my friends, take my shirt off... and I was the only one to paint myself. Let me tell you something: You will never be more self-conscious than when you are the only half-naked person in a crowd. Even if you're drunk. You gotta be REAL confident to pull that off. I was not. I fled the arena. College can be so cruel.
In a future where cloning is legal, do you think the NFL would allow clones to play? Do you think they would allow clones on the same team? For example you could have two active Peyton Mannings on your roster so your quarterback position would always be fresh and healthy. Or imagine having four Calvin Johnson's lined up wide. Whoa.
If it were legal in society, then I think it would be legal in football. I don't see why not. It would be worth it just for the HOT SPORTS TAKES from the likes of Rick Reilly and Skippy Bayless. "Clones? More like cons!" That joke would be used.
But I think the NFL would probably drag its feet before finally coming around. After all, weed is now legal in two states, but the major sports leagues have yet to formally allow athletes to smoke it. There's going to be an inevitable lag because the NFL never misses a chance to seize the moral high ground. But trust me: In the future, when it turns out that playing one down of football gives you inoperable brain tumors and the talent pool has dried up due to class action litigation, they'll have no choice but to use clones anyway.
In fact, I could see NFL teams starting up clone farms, birthing players in test tubes and breeding them like KFC chickens for the explicit purpose of making them into interchangeable position players. I have no problem with this. It's well worth ceding our inherent humanity in order to create 22 "twins" of Calvin Johnson and then forcing them to battle for my amusement. And the best part is... if one gets injured, another equally good one is right behind them! SAME MAN UP. The talent would be so plentiful, we wouldn't even have to pay the players. We could simply house them in barns and keep them tethered to perpetual treadmills. Jerry Richardson masturbates to this idea at night.
I have a friend that's been married for a while. Every year on their anniversary they post on Facebook that it's their 10th anniversary but they've been together for 17 years or something. It annoys me because I don't believe you should be credited for the dating years. Am I wrong in this belief?
I don't think you should get public credit for it. It's relationship inflation. When my wife and I celebrate our anniversary, we always calculate, "Oh hey, we've been together for 15 years! Fuck we're old." But you can't CELEBRATE that. No one else gives a shit, and those early years could have easily included any number of breakups and/or side girlfriends. They don't go on the official record until you put a ring on it. I give you NO credit.
So I'm engaged (no kids), and in my early 30's. I find myself often declining to go out on a random Friday or Saturday night because I'm too tired from the work week, even if it sounds like something fun. A good night's sleep just sounds so much more appealing to me now a days. Am I gonna kick myself in a few years when I have kids and never get to go out anymore?
Nah, you're just doing what you want, which is always the right move. When you get older, you get lamer, and apparently this happens whether you have kids or not, which is of great comfort to me, since I've been berating my kids for eight years about ruining my social life (it helps build character in them). The key to getting older is ACCEPTING your lameness, which then makes you cool! I don't go to nightclubs because I'm old and don't have time and because nightclubs are fucking awful. In other words, I AM TOO FUCKING COOL FOR THE NIGHTCLUB. One of the joys of getting older is driving past a line outside a bar or club and laughing at the shitheads trying to get in.
I'm currently in three fantasy leagues, but how many leagues are too many?
I think three is a bad number. You need to be in either one league, two leagues, or 90. I know people who have a dozen fantasy teams or more and once you get to that number, you treat fantasy players like stocks because you will simultaneously start and play against your players virtually every week anyway. So you start picking which players to invest heavily in and which to purge from your portfolio, and you root for the players you have on more of your teams. Even then, I don't really know how those guys manage to stay sane with a zillion rosters to manage.
I've been in two leagues for a few years now, and next year I'm going down to one. I am sick to death of ALWAYS having both my fantasy games somehow boil down to me rooting for Demaryius Thomas to score over 10 points (because I have him in one league) but not MORE than 14 points (because I'm playing against him in the other league). I fucking hate it. If there is a way for fantasy football to annoy you, it will. I can't handle two leagues anymore. And I never fucking win anyway.
What if every NCAA athlete (I'm talking every football player, basketball player, swimmer, fencer, golfer, bowler, gymnast, volleyball player, etc.) planned a day where they each accepted $20 from an 'agent' or teacher or coach or sponsor or uncle or whomever and then all self-reported their 'violation' to the NCAA?
The NCAA would just slap them all on the wrist. For all its petty statutes and bureaucratic anal probes, the NCAA tailors punishments to its own benefit. This is why no school has gotten the death penalty since SMU—because the NCAA realized that shutting down a program did the Association more harm than good. They can let Auburn and Cam Newton's dad skate by if they don't want Bowl money jeopardized. Or they can make like the Feds and try to throw the book at Penn State when it's already down. There are no moral decisions made at the NCAA, even though they would like people to believe that every decision they make is made by a wise panel of consisting of twenty iterations of the ghost of John Wooden.
So if all the college athletes decided to break NCAA rules en masse (good luck getting college kids to do anything simultaneously that doesn't involve binge drinking or humping), the NCAA would tut-tut to Charles Robinson, wait for a bit, and then send a stern "Okay you get a warning" letter to every student. And if they did it again? Second warning, with nicer letterhead.
Does the guilt of not one hundred percent enjoying your time with your kids ever go away? I have young kids and sometimes I'd rather be playing Candy Crush than reading them books or coloring with them. I know that's pretty standard but I feel extreme guilt over it. Does that guilt tend to subside as your kids get older?
Not really. Sometimes I'll take out my phone when I'm hanging with my kids because pushing a Thomas train around a track gets really tiring after just two spins, and after three seconds I'll feel like shit for having the phone out, so I put it away and then take it out again when I'm bored two minutes later. And so the cycle goes. One time, my kid actually asked me to put my phone away and I felt like the worst parent on Earth. So I put the phone away. And then took it out again. And I imagine that, one of these days, I'll whip that stupid fucking phone out and the kid will write me off for good and my failure as a father will be complete. I don't know if that's true, but I can picture it.
It's a strange phenomenon with parenting. There are times when I can't wait to get my kids to sleep or get them to school, so that I can have time to fart around as I please. ME ME ME. And then, once I've finally rid myself of them, I feel terribly lonely. This is especially true on business trips. I took a trip to San Diego once and had a free night to myself. This was during ComicCon, so there were giant hordes of people teeming about and talking and drinking and all that (ComicCon nerds are an unexpectedly social bunch), and I was by myself, walking the streets. And I'm telling you: I had no idea what to do with myself. I went to a bar and had a drink by myself and felt like a fucking loser, which is saying a lot when there are "Chuck" fanboys milling about. Then I just wandered around aimlessly like a crazy person. I think I had an ice cream sundae for dinner. The idea that my family was asleep and thousands of miles away nearly made me have a nervous breakdown. The co-dependence is STAGGERING. I want time for myself, but there is no me without the rest of my family around. When I go away on trips, I feel like part of a toy that got lost behind the couch. I'm useless.
So no, the guilt never goes away. But it does mean that you care, which is good. The guilt lets you know it's working!
Can zombies go in water? If so, will they just walk along the bottom? My buddy thinks zombies need air to breathe and therefore wouldn't be able to go in water cause they would die from lack of oxygen. I personally think that they would just walk along the ground of the ocean, realize there isn't shit for people down there for them to eat on and either eat fish (zombie sharks) or just stay out of the water and go for the suckers who lock themselves in a grocery store.
They can swim. Or, at least, they do in Max Brooks' World War Z. They hover just below the surface of the water, waiting for some poor bastard sitting on a boat to reach his hand in, and then BOOM. That fucker is chum. It's like that creepy swamp in The Two Towers. Water zombies and water ghouls are freaky as shit. Avoid them if possible.
Who would win a fistfight: Putin or Stalin? I say Stalin. Putin seems like a real tough dude, but Stalin has the anger and ruthlessness of STALIN!
Even though he looks robust while shirtless and stop a steed, Putin is a tiny little fucker. He's 5'7" and 170 pounds. But turns out that Stalin was even TINIER. According to this site, his official height was never recorded but was likely in the neighborhood of 5' 5". "Many efforts were made to subliminally persuade people that Stalin was taller than he actually was." Hey, he's just like Stallone! Anyway, Putin has the height and weight advantage, plus the advantage of judo. He would beat Stalin with weird trips and throws, and would probably poison him right before the weigh-in just to be on the safe side.
By the way, check out this early photo of Stalin and tell me he wouldn't be cast today as a love interest for Lena Dunham. Looks like he runs a fucking trattoria.
Email of the week!
I injured my shoulder pretty seriously playing rugby over the summer. I played through it and then waited the obligatory three months for it to heal on its own, and it's only gotten worse. I finally bit the bullet and scheduled an appointment with an orthopedic doctor. The earliest they could get me in was two weeks out. I am convinced/terrified that my shoulder is going to magically heal between now and then, and when I show up for the appointment the doctor will find nothing wrong and think I am a faker/giant wimp.
My dream scenario is that it turns out to be the worst shoulder tear he has ever seen, so that I look like a WARRIOR for playing out our last few games of the season through such a devastating injury. To sum up, I'm hoping that my shoulder doesn't heal and is actually really terribly injured so that I don't appear weak. Do I need (non-shoulder related) professional help?
Nah. Perfectly normal. No one wants to look bad in front of a doctor. They have charts to note if you're a pussy or not!
Drew Magary writes for Deadspin and Gawker. He's also a correspondent for GQ. Follow him on Twitter @drewmagary and email him at firstname.lastname@example.org. You can also order Drew's book, Someone Could Get Hurt, through his homepage.
Art by Sam Woolley