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. You can also read Drew over at SFGATE, and buy Drew’s books while you’re at it.
I am on drugs. I wish I could tell you that I’m on interesting drugs, the kind that leave you seeing things that aren’t there, and have withdrawal symptoms that include your whole body turning into one big pustule. But alas, I’m a middle-aged American, which means that my drug habit is one I’ve cultivated for functional purposes. A boring drug habit, but one that I need. I need to take my meds, and I need to take them at specific times and in specific doses. Because without them, I am not myself.
I have a pillbox to keep track of my meds, although it’s a relatively discreet one. No clear plastic boxes with the days of the week in 56-point typeface. I’m sure such a pillbox awaits me once I clear retirement age. But for now, my chemical regimen isn’t a terribly cumbersome one. I just have to remember to bring my pillbox onto a plane with me if forced to check my luggage.
Because I’m dutiful about meds. You and I know that the pharmaceutical industry in this country is corrupt, and often downright murderous. But the reason these companies are able to behave with such impunity is because, by and large, their products WORK. I know because I’ve experienced life both before my meds and life after stopping them. I enjoyed neither scenario. My drugs are a miracle. I can’t live without them, to the point that I’ve been willing to endure endless doctor appointments, torturous lines at the pharmacy, and co-pays that will total $137 seemingly at random because my insurer decided that’s what it costs.
Your drugs are likely a miracle as well. You need them as much as I need mine. And yet, I have no idea what drugs you, or anyone else, is on. This is because we all deserve our privacy, and also because talking about your meds with other people instantly transforms you into Abe Simpson. But these meds help define who I am at 48. With my drugs, I am levelheaded and functional. Without them, I am a paranoid asshole with a timebomb beneath his breastbone. I don’t like being that, so I stick to my regimen so that I can be the Drew that you, my friends, and my family think of as Drew. I’m also at a stage in life where I not only have to list my meds on every patient intake form, but I gotta know the dosage as well. I now know these drugs as well as I know my own children. Probably better, if I’m being honest.
I know all of my drugs intimately. I know the shape of each pill if I’m grasping for one of them in the dark, and I have a unique relationship with each of them as well. I have to take levetiracetam (brand name Keppra) twice daily for a long-ago brain injury, even though my neurologist told me, point blank, that no one is quite sure how the drug works. They just know that it does. I have to take esomeprazole magnesium (Nexium) twice a day because they once found a precancerous spot in my esophagus. Best to take this drug an hour before eating, so I keep one pill on my nightstand when I sleep so that I can wolf it down as I get up to take my 5 a.m. piss.
I take only 100mg of sertraline (Zoloft), because the NP told me that higher dosages can render me so stoic that you could kill my dog in front of me and I wouldn’t care. I’d like to care, so that I might kill you in rage for laying hands on my precious Carterfarter. Lastly, I take the max dosage of atorvastatin (Lipitor) because I have heart disease, and another 10mg of ezetimibe (Zettia) because the max Lipitor dosage isn’t quite enough to keep my arteries open for business. I can list all of these drugs straight from memory, save for their generic brand names, all of which sound like character names from a failed series of fantasy books.
I also take Wegovy so that my wife will find me sexy. Oh and I take cannabis, although my prescription for that is of dubious necessity.
I take these drugs as prescribed, and on schedule. If I’m taking a long road trip, I pack a spare pillbox to account for any extra regimen days. I am dependent on these drugs. Not quite in the way that a heroin user is dependent on heroin, but still enough that I fear life without any of these drugs in my system. When you get even older than I am, especially in a country with a shoddy health care system like ours, that fear only grows more pronounced. Ask your grandparents. Or hit their bathroom and marvel at the checkerboard pillbox they need a spare tray table to accommodate. I am grateful for my meds, but also resentful that I can’t live (or at least, can’t live well) without them. I guess the same could be said of any close relationship that I might have, which means that my drugs are like family to me. They will be until the day all of the machines stop working. I won’t like myself much when that happens.
The Games
All games in the Jamboroo are evaluated for sheer watchability on a scale of 1 to 5 Throwgasms.
Five Throwgasms
Eagles at Bucs: Yesterday, our friend Mike Tanier listed out a few reasons why the undefeated Bucs remain largely ignored by the football cognoscenti. I too often default to pretending the Bucs don’t exist, because they’re the Bucs. I didn’t even pay any mind to the Tom Brady Bucs until they forced the issue by kicking the shit out of Kansas City in the Super Bowl. I hated that Tom Brady made me care about Bucs football, and I kinda still do.
But not only has this team been good throughout Baker Mayfield’s reign, they’ve also been fun as shit. Emeka Egbuka is an instant god at wideout. Bucky Irving is one of those speed backs who’s incredible for like four years before everything falls apart. And Baker has a fun habit of pulling games out of his ass at the last second, and without Tristan Wirfs around to protect his blind side this month. Tampa still hasn’t made it past the divisional round under Todd Bowles, and they still play in a division no one respects. I’m just saying that, against all odds, they’re a joy to see on my television screen every week. The Eagles will probably beat them by two touchdowns.
Four Throwgasms
Colts at Rams: Here’s a quick story about me vomiting into a cup. It’s early morning at LAX and I’m there to catch a flight home after seeing Oasis in Pasadena the night before. I haven’t eaten, so I go to the terminal food court to get some coffee, plus a breakfast burrito. It’s as average a breakfast burrito as I’ve ever eaten, but whatever. Once I’m done, I grab a free cup of ice water from a counter cooler and throw it down.
Now I’m walking out of the food court when I suddenly feel nauseous. I know what’s happening, and I know that it’s happening right away. I’m on Wegovy, and one of the side effects of being on GLP-1 inhibitors is the sudden need to throw up if you eat too much food too quick. I have to barf, but I don’t have time to make it to the bathroom. I don’t even have time to make it to the nearby garbage can. But I do have an empty cup in my hand, and that’ll have to do. While walking, I spew right into that cup, just as Garth Algar once advised:
My cup is bigger than Garth’s, but still not big enough. It runneth over just as I’ve reached the trash can, coating my fingers and leaving a small puddle on the ground. I tell myself that no one has noticed, I throw the barf cup away, and then I speed walk to the bathroom to wash my hands. When I come back out, airport sanitation workers have already cleaned up the mess. Then I head to my gate and fly home. That’ll be the last airport breakfast burrito I eat for a while.
Great concert, though.
Three Throwgasms
Seahawks at Cardinals: On paper, this is a game between two winning teams. Does it feel that way, especially when airing on a Thursday? It does not.
I’ll tell you one thing, though: I was wrong to be down on Seahawks G Gray Zabel before the draft this spring. That guy is a fucking load. Gray Zabel is one of those “Hey man, why can’t OUR O-linemen play like that?” kind of O-linemen. I fear him.
Ravens at Chiefs: Here’s a game between two losing teams on paper. Does it feel that way? Well, when I’m forced to watch the Chiefs attempt to play offense, does anyone REALLY win? They do not. And why does Patrick Mahomes keep throwing weird laterals? You’re not playing for the Lions, you dummy.
Packers at Cowboys: Here’s your Sunday Night Jerry Jones Humiliation Bowl, with Micah Parsons back in the Metroplex to plant Dak Prescott six layers beneath the Earth’s crust. The Cowboys will deserve every second of misery that Green Bay inflicts upon them. Cris Collinsworth’s glee-meter will burst into flames.
Two Throwgasms
Vikings at Steelers (Dublin): Aaron Rodgers and Carson Wentz! America’s two favorite quarterbacks, together now in Ireland! Here’s the only thing both Protestants AND Catholics there will ever agree on: these two guys rock!
Bears at Raiders: I wrote a bunch of mean shit about Caleb Williams a couple weeks back, but he deserves some form of recompense after busting loose against Dallas last week. So let’s all marvel at Caleb deftly handling what might have been the worst pitch back ever attempted on a flea flicker:
Toss the ball back that way to Geno Smith and you will be in an absolute world of pain.
Commanders at Falcons: Dan Quinn got lit the fuck up last week. Roll the tape!
Everyone was going on about Quinn coaching the rest of that game with the Chuck Cecil blood trickle going down his face. But loogit that guy’s melon bounce off the ground! You ever fall on a basketball court and have your head smash into the hardwood? You don’t forget that impact, ever. I watched Quinn’s head go SPLAT and damn near felt it myself. This is why I watch games from home instead of head coaching them. Much safer.
Chargers at Giants
One Throwgasm
Jets at Dolphins
Bengals at Broncos: Here’s your MNF doubleheader, which will serve as Exhibit 45,872 that I will, without fail, gladly watch dogshit football rather than do anything productive with my evening.
Panthers at Patriots: Real ones watch Red Zone on delay if they had to miss anything.
Browns at Lions: Our own Dan McQuade wrote a whole post about Joe Flacco earlier this week, but I’d also like to second my appreciation for the man. As Dan said, Joe Flacco could have fucked off to a cushy retirement years ago, his reputation firmly established. Instead, he’s chosen the Josh McCown career path, including two(!!!) stints with Cleveland. You only sign up for that kind of thing if you truly love playing football, which Flacco clearly does. He’s like Rickey Henderson playing for the Newark Bears at 44 years old. A true gamer.
(He also probably has no idea what to do with the rest of his life, but who does?)
Titans at Texans: Speaking of abominations: Pizza Hut’s new Flatzz pizzas. You’re not fooling anyone with this shit, Pizza Hut. Flatbread pizzas were exposed as bullshit well over a decade ago, and now you wanna roll out some five-dollar artisanal bullshit of your own? Go back to making the depressing, cookie-dough stuffed crust pizzas you usually make.
Jaguars at 49ers
Saints at Bills
Pregame Song That Makes Me Wanna Run Through A Goddamn Brick Wall
“New Coke,” by Health! Don’t let the name of this band fool you. They’re not into health at all! Submitted by reader Dusty:
May I submit to you the best music video that has ever been made, which includes an end scene that is better than every single episode of The Wire, The Sopranos, and Breaking Bad combined. I have seen these edgelord motherfuckers over seven times in five different states. I own probably 15 of their shirts. They’ve done soundtracks for Grand Theft Auto, and they are funny as shit. They are the best there is right now. Try to think of one argument how this is not the best goddamn music video of all time.
Sometimes I get submissions from readers who are IN the band they’ve recommended. Dusty might not be in Health, but there’s a decent chance he’s their tour manager or something. Anyway, I think he’s referring to all of the slo-mo barfing at the end of this clip. It’s no “Sabotage,” but I was amused for a few seconds.
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 current 2025 chopping block:
Brian Callahan**********
Mike McDaniel*
Brian Daboll*
DeMeco Ryans
Kellen Moore
Zac Taylor
Raheem Morris
Mike Vrabel
Kellen Moore
John Harbaugh
Brian Scottenheimer
(* – potential midseason firing)
Brian Callahan fired himself as Tennessee’s playcaller this week. Let’s hear his explanation for that:
“I have zero disappointment in my play calling. I don’t have any disappointment in that at all. It’s just more so I can see the rest of it, see the big picture better, and do a better job of it.”
If Brian Callahan coached a team that anyone outside of Nashville cared about, he’d have Matt Patricia’s reputation. Here is where I note that the Titans hired 56 general managers this offseason, took Cam Ward with the No. 1 overall pick, and then changed NOTHING else. I don’t even know how to assess Ward right now. How could anyone? The poor fucker has no offensive line, no one to throw to, and a head coach who just kicked himself upstairs. I’d rather have Jordon Hudson in charge of my football team than any of these people.
Jim Harbaugh’s Lifehack of the Week!
“I don’t consider my body to be a body. Yes I have arms, legs, torso and buttocks. But you know what our bodies really are? ENGINES. Perfect machines engineered by the hand of God. And what do those engines require? Fuel. Good fuel. The idea of keeping this engine running on something like Corn Flakes … well, that’s a thought that’s kept me awake at night in the past. That’s why, when I get up in the morning now, the first thing I feed into that engine is two pounds of fresh, raw elk loin. That way I burn hot and clean.”
Great Moments In Poop History
Reader KC sends in this story I call CHODE TRIP:
I live in a city about three hours away from the rest of my family. My dad had a health scare (he’s fine now) and spent weeks in the hospital. At the same time, my car broke down. I felt super isolated and cut off. Finally, one weekend, I managed to get a ride over the mountains from a kid I went to high school with who also needed to visit his family. We weren’t super close, and I also came with a very needy purse dog. So I knew that I needed to be a gracious carpool buddy.
After an emotional visit with my frail dad, my chauffeur and I swooped through the McDonald’s drive through and headed out on the road. I had done this drive approximately 1000 times in my life, so I was aware of where all the pit stops were. We had just passed the last gas station for many miles when we hit traffic and the bubble in my gut took over. I had to go, and NOW. I told my driver companion to please pull over, as there was only one outlet before a long stretch of enclosed, no shoulder highway. I feigned that I needed to throw up, practically threw my dog at him, and then I wandered into the bushes in the median between two very busy directions of a major state highway.
At this time, a cop pulled up behind our car and came to see if I was okay. I think he thought this relative stranger was my boyfriend, and that we were in some kind of domestic dispute. I was nearly in tears when I told him that I was about to shit my pants and that I hardly knew that guy. Then I asked the cop to please use his vehicle to block me so the driver would think I was puking instead. He offered me a small shield as I squatted a stream of McDonald’s soft serve off the side of the road, and then used three grease stained napkins to wipe. I approached the car and grabbed my absolutely inconsolable dog. Then I said, “I feel better now, but I am going to nap,” and faked being asleep for over an hour. I am pretty sure he knows what really happened, but didn’t want to make fun of me since my dad was sick.
Good man. And I’d salute the cop for having your back, but cops have some well-known criteria for who they’ll help and who they’d prefer to gun down instead.
Brick Johnson’s Executive Proposal Of The Week
“Dad, you know why the Bills keep winning our division? It’s because they have a mafia. So why don’t we have a mafia of our own? We’re in New Jersey, Dad! You know how many mobsters live here? At least, like, 20! Shit, my friend Spidey’s dad controls half this state’s garbage routes!”
“Yo.”
“Spidey’s got connections. So while those candyasses in Buffalo are funneling ketchup, the #JetsMafia could be a REAL mafia! We’re talking guns, pills, Molly…”
“A lot of Molly.”
“We could supply every tailgate party with that shit! And I know you said you only wanted me doing Molly at home, but the stadium is kind of our home too, right?”
“I just fucked a concession stand lady right behind the hot dog roller.”
“Fucking nice.”
Gametime Cheap Beer Of The Week
Super Bock! From Portugal! Reader Phillip educates us:
This is Super Bock. Northern Portugal’s finest. Super cheap? Check! Super cold? Checkity check! Super fucking delicious? Oh check the fuck out of that. This photo was taken in Porto Portugal and that lovely beast next to the beer is a roast pork, or pernil, sandwich on house made bread with a gooey sheep’s milk cheese. Served alongside a plate of fresh out of the fucking fryer potato chips. This is from Casa Guedes in Porto. Drank my fucking weight in Super Bock and I’m counting the days until I can go back.
Let’s all move to the Iberian Peninsula, shall we? This country is dead anyways.
Gameday Movie Of The Week For Dolphins Fans
In honor of One Battle After Another’s release, it’s Phantom Thread. I saw this movie years after it came out, so I already knew the spoiler (if it can be called that) before going in. It didn’t matter. I run hot and cold with Paul Thomas Anderson, in an almost perfectly alternating sequence. He makes a movie I can’t fucking stand, then goes out and makes one of the best movies I’ve ever seen. Phantom Thread fits more into the latter category. I love a filmmaker who gets super arty and deep, but is also fun enough to name his main character Reynolds Woodcock. Four stars. And shout out to Vicky Krieps, who deserved some award love of her own.
Gratuitous Simpsons Quote
“The ingredients were fresh pureed tomatoes, water, salt, and sodium benzoate used to retard spoilage. Once again, if I’m not mistaken, this can contained tomato paste.”
Enjoy the games, everyone.
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