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.
It’s Thanksgiving today, and I have only one message for you, the Holiday-American: please pass the salt. Do not hog the salt. Do not set the table without salt and pepper, as if the food you’ve cooked has already been flawlessly seasoned. And do NOT, under any circumstances, give me any guff when I ask for more salt on my food.
Because I already know the deal with salt. Read a whole book on the subject, in fact. Salt has caused wars. Its ability to preserve food helped enable global exploration, which in turn helped enable global conquest. It, along with sugar, has served as the foundation of the processed food industry. And yes, salt can cause high blood pressure. I know that last little factoid well, because every living American has been nagged about their salt intake by every other living American. I see salt, I think hypertension. It’s been incepted into my brain over the course of decades. My mom would chastise my dad for eating too much salt, to the point where I think we tried out using Mrs. Dash as an alternative (do not do this). And if my dad was being a good little buck and not getting caught near the salt lick, then my mom would turn Sodium Sheriff on me.
My wife now does likewise, as do doctors, nurses, nurse practitioners, friends, colleagues, advertisements, and every other concern merchant out there. I get it. Salt is, like many modern comforts, a net ill for society.
But also it tastes good, so fuck all that.
Because there was a time when early man didn’t know that salt could be a valuable seasoning, much less a history-altering commodity. Mankind is 200,000 years old, but the earliest known evidence of human salt production dates back to just 7,000-8,000 years ago. That means that salt has been with us for a mere four percent—four percent!—of our dinnertimes on Earth. Can you IMAGINE life during that remaining 96 percent? Yes, there was also mass bloodshed, no running water, no electricity, and a general absence of civilized behavior. But you couldn’t even get a decent French fry back then. I’d feed myself to a fucking dinosaur if I had to live like that.
I have a heavy hand with the salt, both in the kitchen and at the table. My wife makes note of this, to the point where any review she issues of one of my dishes will mention the salt level before anything else. Does that keep me from salting my food liberally? Reader, it does not. Salt opens up the flavor of certain dishes, and lends flavor to dishes that otherwise wouldn’t have any. Imagine eating mashed potatoes that haven’t been salted, like Grog back in 80,000 BCE. What a bullshit side dish that would be. Good food needs salt, and I need good food. A simple equation. A perfect one.
Especially at Thanksgiving. If you’re one of those ewwww Thanksgiving means nothing but brown food people, this is not the time of year when I care for your voice to be heard. Brown food—which includes poultry, gravy, brown sugar, moo shu, soy sauce, chocolate, mushrooms, cinnamon, bread, stuffing, snickerdoodles, nuts, and caramel—is one of our more reliable food groups. Furthermore, I can eat unbrown food at all other times of the year (and do). And what’s that I see on the edge of my dinner plate tonight? Cranberry sauce, which isn’t brown unless you did something very wrong. So, in this house, we believe that brown food is as worthy of praise as any other color food. Especially if that brown food is salted. What’s the best way to salvage dry turkey? You smother it in gravy, which is also high in salt. Wanna add extra complexity to a tray of brownies? You sprinkle some Maldon on top of them before they go in the oven. And how do you get little Johnny to eat his goddamn green beans this year? That’s right: you cook those beans in canned mushroom soup, and then top them with fried onions. For any food emergency you encounter, salt is the answer.
I have had, by objective measure, a difficult year. I’ve suffered personal loss, and I’ve watched the world go mad for the 5,000th time. They say it’s not healthy to self-medicate with food, or alcohol, or drugs. But that’s not true if you’ve actually tried any of those methods. This Thanksgiving, I’m gonna need to dip all the way into my bag of vices to make my little corner of the world a happy one. This ain’t a time for meditation. This is a time for cold, hard gluttony.
You’re probably gonna need a similar boost. There’s only so much we can control in this world, and in this life. Thankfully, a salt grinder is one of them. I’m gonna put a little extra on my turkey, my potatoes, and anything else that goes into my mouth. Fuck it, maybe I’ll salt myself this weekend if I’m feeling frisky. I’ll brine myself in a warm salt bath, dry myself off real nice, and then go chill out in a smokehouse until a deep, hickory flavor has infused my flesh. That would be the truest ecstasy, and it would be all thanks to our big, beautiful salt mines.
You’d best remember that. Even when news out there is rotten, you and I can still find a way to have a good time. In fact, I dare say it’s a moral imperative to do so right now. You only get one life, and there’s no sense in waiting for everyone else to get their shit together before you treat yourself, otherwise you’ll be waiting forever. You and I have right now, so let’s get together and make something tasty out of it. Pour a drink, grab a snack, turn on a game, spark up a J, and pass me some of that good white shit. This is Thanksgiving, and this is your Thanksgiving Jamboroo. Let’s get to it.
The Games
All games in the Jamboroo are evaluated for sheer watchability on a scale of 1 to 5 Throwgasms.
Five Throwgasms
Eagles at Ravens: If you’re like these two teams and you go for it on fourth down more often than you don’t, my only request is that you run that play fast. Don’t do the thing where you saunter to the line, try to draw the defense offside, fail, burn a timeout, and then let the play clock wither down to 10 seconds before you snap the fucking ball. Have your fourth-down decision made before you’ve run your third-down play, have a play call already loaded, hurry to the line once the ref places the ball down, and then go. I have no data that proves that this is a more effective way of running a situational offense, but I know what makes me yell at my TV. And when your offense is slow as balls for no strategic reason, I will give you both barrels.
Four Throwgasms
Dolphins at Packers: I am a foot tucker. When I’m going to sleep, I have to tuck the end of blanket/comforter under my feet so that I’m wrapped up all nice and warm. No longer do I stick one foot out from underneath as a temperature control. At 48, I get cold if you so much as blow on me. So making like a burrito in bed is the best way to shield myself from the cruel elements out there (in a well-insulated house with central air).
Three Throwgasms
Bears at Lions: Two weeks ago, the Bears lost to the Packers after Green Bay blocked Cairo Santos’s game-winning field goal attempt at the gun. After that disaster, Packers players told reporters that Santos kicks the ball at a noticeably lower trajectory, so they set up their FG block (dirty tricks included) with that in mind. Fast forward a week and the Bears had a similar field goal attempt against Minnesota, which was subsequently blocked in the exact same fashion. Didn’t Bears coaches tell Santos to, you know, kick the ball higher this time? Well my friends, it will shock you—shock you!—to learn they didn’t:
Linebacker Pat Jones II said he had expected Chicago to fix those protection issues that the Vikings saw on the Green Bay tape. "That's kind of rare, because normally teams will go clean up what they need to clean up," Jones said. "...You always expect teams to fix stuff, but we knew if they didn't get it fixed, we're going to go get us one."
Minnesota committed its fair share of special teams boners later in that game (you might have heard about them), but Matt Eberflus deserves special mention for losing a game in the worst way possible and then failing to address the ONE reason they lost that game. That kinda shit earns you a place in history alongside Urban Meyer, Rich Kotite, Bobby Petrino, and other eternal punchlines. How did fixing this not make your to-do list, Matt? Someone hit you with a car?
Cardinals at Vikings: Kyler Murray is back in form, but you still never know when he’ll suddenly turn into Miniature Jameis during a game. Like here!
I love it when the color guy sees a pick even before it’s been picked. OH NOOOOOO…
49ers at Bills
Steelers at Bengals
Chargers at Falcons
Two Throwgasms
Raiders at Chiefs (Friday): Here’s your Black Friday game. Like every other Chiefs game this year, it’ll be close and yet unexciting.
Bucs at Panthers: Baker Mayfield has lousy taste in politics, and yet sometimes I can’t help but adore the little fucker. You troll Tommy DeVito and his Jersey heritage after scoring a touchdown, and I’ll always admire you.
Rams at Saints
Titans at Commanders
Seahawks at Jets
One Throwgasm
Giants at Cowboys: Here’s this week’s Worst Game of the Year. They should’ve held this one in London just so that we could recycle all of our London game jokes for it.
Browns at Broncos
Colts at Patriots
Texans at Jaguars
Pregame Song That Makes Me Wanna Run Through A Goddamn Brick Wall
“Mr. Moustache,” by Fall of Troy!
It’s very rare that you find a band that manages to do a cover of a Nirvana song justice; rarer still when they manage to put forth a cover that arguably sounds better than the original. Anyway, you may recognize this Mukileto, WA trio from Guitar Hero III, or to readers of a certain age, from getting absolutely destroyed in one of their moshpits back when Warped Tour still existed. This song in particular is fantastic when you want to sprint until you collapse, puke, or both.
I always want to do both.
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!
Doug Pederson*
Todd Bowles
Brian Daboll*
Dave Canales
Kevin Stefanski
Mike McCarthy*
Matt Eberflus*
Antonio Pierce
Zac Taylor
Jerod Mayo
Kyle Shanahan
(*potential midseason firing)
I’m sorry Jerod Mayo, but it’s curtains for you now:
There’s no coming back from such a fearsome burn. You could file assault charges against Bill Simmons for this kind of attack, or are you too Scared, Jerod? Here’s a new name for you: Scare-od Mayo! Bill is already passing out taunting instructions to the Foxboro faithful using this nickname. I’d flee to Canada if I were you.
By the way, after Daniel Jones was cut last week, I said to other people, “I guess this means Brian Daboll is safe. They must have given him their blessing to do this.” I was righter about the fucking election than I was with this take.
Great Moments In Poop History
Reader Joe sends in this story I, inevitably, call POOSIERS:
When I was in the eighth grade, I played travel basketball with the other kids in my town. Our team was a juggernaut. I'd usually be the first guy off of the bench. A defense first wing, a 3-point shooter, a cut and finish type of guy. No midrange. I suppose I was ahead of the game back then, but I digress.
One particular night, in the late winter of 2005, a majority of the kids on my team had a CYO (church league) playoff game, and would not be able to attend our travel game. As a feral 14-year old, this was the best news since I'd found out they were going to go back to showing The Simpsons in its regular timeslot after 9/11. But again, I digress.
The night of the game, I am in my parents' kitchen. We’re a half hour away from getting on the road and an hour from the game starting. My parents, the lovely yet frugal people that they are, notice that some strawberries in the fridge are starting to turn. They do not waste food. Countless times, I've seen my father add water to either a ketchup bottle or salad dressing. So my parents, upon noticing the strawberries, decide that we've got to "take care" of these bad boys. In my pre-game stupor, I go for a handful. Ripe as hell, delicious, foreboding.
Come game time, it's myself and four other feral 14-year olds. Easy money. The team we're playing is no good, even though we are undermanned. The feeling in the air is that we'll win handily. The game starts and we're cooking them, but I'm off to a bit of a slow start. Missed layup here, three-pointer short there. Not what you want.
But then we're on defense, with a loose ball heading toward our bench. I've got no shot to save it, but I dive anyway. This crack decision changed my night. Chekov's strawberries had returned to wreak havoc. Upon diving for that ball, I shit my pants. Just a little bit, but anyone with half a brain knows that shitting your pants is a binary. The pants were shidded.
I can't recall exactly what went on in my head, but let's just call it hopeful ignorance. I had gone through every iteration of the 14 year-old flow chart: Did you do something embarrassing? Yes. Were any girls that you have a crush on there to see it? No. Stop, end of flow chart. So I continued on in the game, not worrying about it.
I would go on, from that brown moment, to have the game of my life. I went unconscious from three-point range, hitting my next five in a row. I was cutting through the defense and making reverse layups. I felt like I could do no wrong. I was on such a heater that I distinctly remember kids on the other team saying that I "was killing them" and that "something smells like shit." I finished the game with 25 points. It's the most I've ever scored in a basketball game at any level of my pathetic storied athletic career.
Fast forward to today, whenever I'm playing pick-up with friends & the jumper isn't falling, I'll think to myself "maybe I should shit my pants again," and then I'll have myself a good chuckle (and also maybe a handful of soggy strawberries).
I think I’ve found a cure for Ben Simmons’s yips!
And Now Let’s Go Down To The Sideline And Check In With Charissa Thompson
“Drew, I just saw Tom Turkey being taken into the blue medical oven after suffering what a appeared to be a complete severing of his neck. Thanksgiving staff are officially calling it a ‘lower back’ injury, and are listing the turkey as questionable to return at this time.”
Thank you, Charissa.
Gametime Cheap Beer Of The Week
Krush Ice Blast Lager! Dare you KRUSH a few of these bad boys? Reader Aaron did!
First time I’ve ever looked at a beer and immediately thought, “Now that’s a Gameday Cheep Beer Of The Week if I’ve ever seen one.” A perfectly krushable $1.99 Korean beer, complete with the tacit understanding that attempting to krush more than one will undo the Korean Armistice, and tear through the DMZ of your lower intestines.
I bet it would! DO YOUR WORST, KRUSH.
Gameday Movie Of The Week For Giants Fans
Universal Soldier: Day of Reckoning. Last week’s movie, Castle Falls, was the first Scott Adkins opus I’d ever seen, and I am now on the Adkins Diet (rimshot) full-time. I thought Castle Falls was extremely well done, but it’s fucking Ishtar compared to US: DOR, which is legit one of the best action movies I’ve ever seen. That sounds absurd, given that we’re talking about the sixth installment of a Jean-Claude Van Damme franchise that dates back to 1992. But holy, holy fuck. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen an action movie this intense, especially anytime the plumber (Andrei Arlovski) appears on screen with his trusty axe.
The plot is basic. Adkins plays a cyborg whose wife and child were shot to death (you see it on screen; it’s rough) by JCVD, who’s gone rogue from the U.S. government and is now a ruthless bad guy. Credit to director John Hyams, son of old studio hand Peter Hyams, for giving JCVD roughly six lines in this entire movie. Having that man talk can only lessen the menace. After Adkins wakes up from a cybercoma, he sets out to take revenge. There are elements of One False Move, Apocalypse Now, Halloween, Total Recall, and The Terminator in here, all done on a budget that cost a third of what the first movie in this series cost over three decades ago. The fight scenes are incredible, the blood flows freely, and Hyams uses extended, handheld shots that make the nightmare feel real the whole time you’re watching. I’m still blown away. Four stars.
(BONUS: Thanks to this movie, I checked out Black Summer on Netflix, a zombie series which is also a John Hyams brainchild. It too is unrelentingly intense. More John Hyams, please.)
Gratuitous Simpsons Quote
“Well, sir, I won't bore you with the details of our miraculous escape, but we desperately need a real emergency exit!”
“Why, that's a fabulous idea! Anything else you'd like? How about real lead in the radiation shields? Urinal cakes, maybe?”
Enjoy the games, everyone. Happy Thanksgiving!
