Drew Magary’s Thursday Afternoon NFL Dick Joke Jamboroo runs every Thursday at Defector during the NFL season. Got something you wanna contribute? Email the Roo. And buy Drew’s book, The Night The Lights Went Out, through here.
I have not lived year-round with my parents since I was 14 years old. I went to boarding school for sophomore year (I was already a year younger than all of my classmates), and then college and professional life followed. So while I have an ample memory bank of the time before I left the nest, I have just as many memories of returning home from my travels out in the big, wide world.
I came home from New Hampshire, from Maine, from New York, and from Maryland. The trips all had a predictable rhythm to them, but with sights and moments that remain strangely impossible to forget. I remember standing outside an airport in the dead of night, waiting for my dad to pick me up. I remember no one else standing by the curb, as if I was the last person left at the terminal. The last person left on Earth. I remember sitting on coach buses, at a time before bus travel became, perhaps by default, one of the better travel options this country has to offer. I remember waiting to transfer on rain-soaked Metro-North platforms, the soft glow of the streetlights reflecting off the asphalt in the parking lot below. I remember Penn Station, Grand Central Station, and Union Station. I even remember what each station had to eat, and where those restaurants were located.
And I remember driving. Lots of driving. I would drive home through ice storms, through eye-deadening rainfall, and through random walls of traffic. I had a tape deck in my car and I’d sing as loud as I possibly could on those drives home. I remember singing so hard on one drive that I was hoarse by the time I reached my parents’ driveway. My mom asked me if I had a cold. I said no. She made me a cup of tea anyway.
Every time I arrived at my folks’ house, my mom would greet me with a hug and I’d greet her with enough dirty laundry to keep the New York Post solvent for 20 years. She’d ask me about school and I’d give her the bare minimum of details, because I didn’t want her micromanaging my academic career. Then I’d raid the fridge for smoked turkey and drink all of the Killian’s Irish Red that Mom had put in the fridge door. I knew that she and my dad were happy to see me. I was happy to see them, too, mostly because they served better food than school did. Plus, most of my returns home came at Christmas, and my parents always did it up: decorations, presents, nice food … all of the good shit.
I always figured I’d be on the other side of the equation one day, with my own children coming home to my future wife and me. But that time felt so far away as to be inconceivable. I always knew I’d end up like my parents, but I had no real grasp of what it would feel like when it happened.
I do now.
My wife and I have three children. Our oldest, 18, left home for college this fall. I was as ready for the girl to leave home as she was to flee it. When we dropped her off, I teared up a little, but I didn’t let loose in torrents the way my wife did. I knew the girl could live out on her own, and I knew she’d come back.
Meanwhile, I had to go back to my own parents’ house in the ensuing weeks, because my dad was ailing. Here again I remember the journey almost as vividly as the destination. Shitty gas station food. The giant mounds of industrial salt permanently stationed by I-95 as I passed through Baltimore. The chance to listen to whatever I wanted in the car, because I didn’t have to share the cabin with my wife or kids. The motherfucker who rear-ended me. Those drives were all a means to an end, but I knew what it meant to Mom and Dad—not to mention my brother and sister—for me to get up there and join them. To make the house whole.
My own house didn’t feel whole after our daughter left. I wasn’t devastated, but I sensed the void. We all could. Sometimes the dog looked at me like, The fuck did she go? I knew where she was, and I knew that she was safe. But that didn’t stop me from wanting her closer. From wanting her here.
She’s here now. She came home for Christmas break, not but a few weeks after she came home for Thanksgiving. And lemme tell you, the “your kid is home from college” feeling is way up there with the best of feelings. I could barely contain my excitement, I was so excited to see the girl. The night she came home for Thanksgiving, she ditched us as quickly as possible to go hang with her friends and her boyfriend. I didn’t beg her to stay in the house, like some kind of hostage taker. I was just happy she was in my vicinity. That was all I needed.
This fits a pattern with my general behavior as a middle-aged dad. I don’t go out much, and I value my Me Time as if it were solid gold. If I can watch a movie in the basement on a Saturday morning without anyone else in the family bothering me, I’m a happy old fart. But while I enjoy being left alone, I don’t enjoy being alone. I need people around, and I need them to be my people.
That’s what happens when you make a home of your own. You furnish the home. You decorate it. You outfit it with TVs and computers and other farty tech doodads. But all of those things are accessories to the main draw of that home, which is people. Ever make a long trip home, only no one is at the house when you arrive because they’re out doing errands and other everyday stuff? It’s kind of a letdown, isn’t it? Even if you know the house will be empty when you arrive, there’s a part of your endocrine system that needs warm bodies inside of it to properly trigger the dopamine release. I need to hear voices. I need to see faces. I need to see my dog lounging on the couch. Only once I see those things can my mind take a rest. OK, everyone is here. I’m good.
That’s why people brave hell on earth to get home this time of year. They drive straight into traffic. They wait inside crowded airport terminals. They hop on trains, buses, ferries, and any other mode of transport they can use. A lot of them are going home out of obligation, but that obligation is one usually borne from love, and only love. That’s why my daughter came home this week. Well, that and the boyfriend.
This is not a dynamic familiar to everyone, perhaps not even you. Not everyone has a home, or they come from one that’s broken. They’re out in the wilderness right now, still in search of their place and their people. This is not a country—not a world—hospitable to such nomads, but those nomads deserve a home as surely as you and I do, and they deserve loved ones who make that home a safe haven from everyone and everything else.
I’ve lived long enough to have more than one “Is this actually happening to me?” experiences. Getting married was one of those, as was childbirth, as was the Twins winning the 1987 World Series. Now I’m at a place in life that I knew I’d find myself in one day, yet I remain incredulous that I got here somehow. I left my parents’ home, found my wife, and then built a home of my own. We’re having Christmas here this year, the first time we’ve been here for the holiday since the pandemic. My daughter had to traverse a relatively great distance to get here. She had to pack up at school, hop on a train to a comically packed airport, navigate security, and then ride through steroidal holiday rush-hour traffic in D.C. just to get here. And when she finally made it to the door, she was happy.
I remember how happy I was, back in my own college days, to get home for Christmas. I remember my parents’ house, and all of my trips to it. Mom doing my laundry. Dad sharing a garage beer with me. My brother and sister arriving at the house so that we could all eat dinner together. When you make a good home, you make the world a better place for anyone who lives there. I understand that firsthand now, and I understand that, the reason I remember every journey home, is because I could never, ever wait to get there.
The Games
All games in the Jamboroo are evaluated for sheer watchability on a scale of 1 to 5 Throwgasms.
Five Throwgasms
Eagles at Commanders: I’m not here next week (Victoria Zeller will be your Jamboroo guest host). So let’s talk ball for a while here, because shit is about to get tight. The Commanders are 9-5 in part because of the coolest Hail Mary I’ve seen in a long time, and because New Orleans called a destined-to-fail play (more on that below) at the gun against them last week. With the schedules currently laid out the way they are, these Commanders are now the only team standing between the Eagles (who finish against the Cowboys and Giants) and 15-2. If the Eagles get the No. 1 seed in the NFC, they’re going to the Super Bowl. That’s not some dorky reverse jinx attempt, and you’re a dork if you accuse me of it. The Eagles are too good along the line of scrimmage to fuck with at the Linc, and not every winning team in this league can be a fraud. So I’m gonna need Jayden Daniels to pull another miracle out of his dexterous butt if I want my own team to have a real shot at this.
Four Throwgasms
Texans at Chiefs: The two games in this section are on Saturday, which means we’ll all get to see a hobbled Patrick Mahomes—who cannot be killed by conventional football weaponry—eke out another dull win against yet another opponent that doesn’t know how to score more than 20 points. At least Harrison Butker is back for this one. So heartwarming.
Steelers at Ravens: Here’s a fun fact that should portend a fun game:
Now here’s the reality: The Steelers and the Ravens always stage a game that features 67 penalty flags and both coaches settling for field goals. I rated this game high only out of obligation to the standings, but I ain’t banking on quality entertainment here.
Three Throwgasms
Broncos at Chargers: I’m gonna continue to ask myself, “Are The Broncos really that good?” right up until the moment they lose their divisional playoff game 13-6. Really makes me wish the Chargers had their shit together. At least Bo Nix has learned how to throw intermediate routes.
Vikings at Seahawks: Last week, Kevin O’Connell went for it up 10-0 over the Bears, and ESPN’s ANALYTICS graphic actually said KICK, which never happens. Whenever a network uses their ANALYTICS pop-up graphic, it always says GO, probably to reassure older viewers that the coach isn’t a dumbshit for eschewing the kick.
Anyway, Sam Darnold threw a pick on that play and the Vikes got nothing from it. KO got some light shit for his decision, but I still agree with it. This is because I require a three-score lead. A one-score lead is too precarious, and a two-score lead can too easily become a one-score lead. A three-score lead provides jusssst enough cushion for me to unclench my asshole. This is a possession sport, boys and girls, so you have to build a fat lead whenever the opportunity arises. You must also then MAINTAIN that lead, or else I’ll get snippy.
Two Throwgasms
49ers at Dolphins: I greatly admire Kevin Clark’s work over at ESPN, but I can’t let this assertion pass:
The Shanahan/McVay tree guys LOVE (Kirk) Cousins and if you think him becoming available doesn't get one or two of them jazzed you are nuts. Even in his current state.
I know that Kyle Shanahan has been pining for Kirk ever since they were both in Washington, but that was a decade ago, back when Kirk was ambulatory. No one is jazzed any longer at the prospect of this old, expensive gimp hoisting up easy picks for them. I’m not nuts, I just have eyes. The only reason to sign Kirk now is to experience the high of getting rid of him afterward.
Bucs at Cowboys: The Bucs are essentially Fun Denver. I have no idea if they’re legit (they’ve won four straight after losing four straight), but do YOU want to have to play Mike Evans and Bucky Irving on the road next month? Not if you cheer for a team with a decades-spanning legacy of sucking in the playoffs, you don’t!
Patriots at Bills: If you’re craving more Bills analysis (mine is that they can win it all if they stop letting other teams hang 40 on them), Victoria will hook you up. She knows that team better than I do. I look at the Bills and STILL only think of Sean McDermott’s whole weird deal last year. Pete Carroll was a far more likable 9/11 fetishist.
Rams at Jets: Aaron Rodgers is now going door-to-door trying to shock people.
Titans at Colts: I thought that Anthony Richardson would be a star after the first four games of his rookie season (he got hurt and missed every game after that). Not only was I wrong, but a quick look back at those four 2023 games show a dude who never threw for more than 223 yards and had a passer rating akin to present-day Andy Dalton. I was judging NFL AR relative to his infamously lousy college numbers. So when he leveled up to a robust (for him) completion percentage of 60 percent with the Colts, I was like, Oh wow, he really IS the next Josh Allen! Nooooooooooooo, he isn’t. Shit, he’s gonna have to work hard just to be the next Jameis Winston. BUST.
One Throwgasm
Saints at Packers: OK, so the Saints mounted a frantic comeback against Washington on Sunday, and interim bicep Darren Rizzi went for two at the gun instead of kicking for overtime. This is always the right call. Dialing up this play for it, less so. If you’re gonna flood one side of the field, at least run a bootleg or some other kind of misdirection beforehand. Don’t just have Spencer Rattler, a lousy QB, sprint directly to the strong side of the field to throw into a fucking mosh pit. I can’t believe I have to bank on these losers to stop the Jordan Love Train.
Jaguars at Raiders: Both of these teams will bring in new leadership after the season is over, and both of them will hire all of the wrong people for the job.
Browns at Bengals: OK, I might have run out of ball to talk. The Bengals need to get a real team for Joe Burrow to play with.
Lions at Bears
Cardinals at Panthers
Giants at Falcons
Pregame Song That Makes Me Wanna Run Through A Goddamn Brick Wall
“Fuck Your Face,” by I Don’t Konform! Here’s a song that does exactly what its title promises, and I respect that more than anything in the world. From David:
I first became aware of the Navajo Metal scene when Navajo Tribal Councilman Edmund Yazzie visited the school that I teach at back in 2009. He was a mutual with some friends on the rez and sometimes played drums in my friend's band, Shadow Remain. I've since kept tabs on the scene ever since, and metal remains huge on the rez. Sometimes the New York Times or some other outlet will do a story on it, but most of the time the bands toil in obscurity. It can be easier to see Navajo metal bands play gigs in Sweden than in the US. Anyway, while casting about for something to fire me up to hate on the Cowboys this weekend I came across Fuck Your Face.” Really what more can you ask for in an anti-Cowboy anthem than a pro-indigenous, anti-colonialist, freedom epic with an awesomely profane chorus?
Nothing. I ask nothing more. I don’t have the right.
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 potential 2024 chopping block:
Robert Saleh—FIRED!
Dennis Allen—FIRED!
Matt Eberflus—FIRED!
Antonio Pierce*************
Doug Pederson*
Brian Daboll*
Mike McCarthy
Zac Taylor
Kevin Stefanski
Shane Steichen
Brian Callahan
Jerod Mayo
Mike McDaniel
(*potential midseason firing)
Reader Laura has a mild concern about coachflation tainting this section of the column:
I feel that is now so inclusive of so many head coaches that it has lost its punch and purpose. Is there any way that we could go deeper into the depth chart and start including assistant coaches? I know, of course, that firing head coaches and their staffs is usually a package deal.
It is. If your team has a shitty OC, guess whose fault that is? That’s why I don’t trust even some of the most accomplished coaches (Mike Tomlin, John Harbaugh) who cycle through vital assistants like they’re perpetually 4-13. So I’m gonna keep the list contained exclusively to head coaches. And if the list above seems extensive, ask yourself who among these men does NOT deserve their walking papers a month from now. I can’t help that NFL teams suck at hiring coaches. They were just born that way.
Great Moments In Poop History
Reader Brendan sends in this story I call PATS IN THE CRADLE:
I recently taught my son to ride a bike: one of my prouder dad moments so far. A couple of weeks ago, he told me he was ready to actually go on a ride with me. We did a couple confidence boost laps up and down our block to get him ready to take off on the path. After that, I allowed myself the luxury of what I thought was a fart. A fart it was not. My sphincter betrayed me and loosed a brown trickle into my drawers before I regained control of the situation.
I played it off like a pro and the ride proceeded successfully, down the path to his school and back. I couldn’t have been prouder of him. But my recollection of his milestone accomplishment on that gorgeous, crisp fall day will always be accompanied by the sense memory of my shorts clinging to my cheeks by a strip of warm, then cold, diarrhea.
It’s when your poop turns cold that the sadness really kicks in.
And Now Let’s Go Down To The Sideline And Check In With Charissa Thompson
“Drew, I caught up with Santa in his workshop just now and asked him about his sleigh team’s status for Tuesday night. He told me his ‘jingle bells’ were ‘all shined up.’ Then he gave me an uncomfortable wink and said, ‘You know Chris, a chimney isn’t the only place I’ll go down, if you catch my snowdrift.’ I quickly left the workshop and drank an entire bottle of wine to decompress. Back to you, Drew.”
Thank you, Charissa.
Gametime Cheap Beer Of The Week
Jupiler! One of the finest beers in our whole sodar sysstim! From Eric!
I present Jupiler from Belgium. Available from vending machines on the street, or in glorious crates. It always felt like we got more money back from returning the bottles and the crate than we spent to purchase this beer. Euronomics I guess.
[my wife’s voice] Oh that’s a good crate. Don’t throw that away.
Gameday Movie Of The Week For Giants Fans
John Wick 4, featuring Scott Adkins as a fat Russian asthmatic! Oh, and Keanu Reeves is also here. This is the best of the Wick movies: a genuine four-star action masterpiece. There’s a good chance that I spend this Christmas break introducing my sons to the JWCU. Die Hard, too. I’m really back into on-screen violence these days. Violence kicks ass.
Gratuitous Simpsons Quote
“I can't get your song out of my mind. I haven't felt this way since Funky Town!”
Enjoy the games, everyone. Merry Christmas!
