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 have another soccer game to attend. This has been a parental duty for me and my wife ever since our son got into the sport sometime around the age of zero. You have kids, and you soon realize that the bulk of your time will be spent driving them places. As such, my wife and I have spent the past 17 years driving our son to soccer practice, soccer meetings, soccer games, and soccer team pizza parties. We’ve done this without malice, but the practice can’t help but turn a bit rote when you’ve been doing it for as long as we have.
That’s been especially true during the boy’s senior year of high school. This year, he finally made the varsity team. No small accomplishment, but one that requires a great deal of his time and, by association, ours. Practices every day. Two games a week, some of them on the road, all of them extending relatively late into the evening. At one point, his team played a streak of half a dozen games that went to extra time; many of these were played in the rain, which I found extra rude. Some nights, he’s had to do his homework after coming back late from these games. Thus, the schedule is so demanding that the games, for any parent, can begin to feel like a bit of obligation.
Not so for our son. He loves the sport, and he also knows that his time playing it competitively is likely nearing an end. In many ways, he’s waited his whole life to be a varsity soccer player, and now he’s finally become one, for this season and this season only. On a recent night, he got the starting nod. I had to be there. This is the job.
I hop in the car and make the drive to a rival high school some 15 miles away. It’s not raining, thank God. In fact, after enduring multiple fake autumns and many more hot or humid days that bookend them, the weather where we live has, at long last, finally settled into real autumn. When I make it to the game and get out of my car, I’m greeted with that brisk fall air that makes wearing warm layers feel like heaven on my skin. These days, fall lasts roughly as long as the average holiday weekend, so I have to savor this air while it’s here. I love a cool night. Not a freezing night, but a nice and cool one. I love cool nights in the summer when I luck into them, and I love cool nights in the spring that let me know winter is finally at an ebb. And I really love cool nights when there are games to be played.
Like tonight. I grab two hot dogs from the concession stand, then stand along the low-lying chain-link fence that surrounds the school track. The sun has gone down, and the Friday night lights are shining down on the pitch. Out there on the turf I see my son, lined up with his teammates and facing a drooping U.S. flag as the national anthem plays over the tinny loudspeakers.
Then the whistle blows and we’re off. I haul ass to the opposite side of the track to get better action shots of our son—to only moderate success; my phone is now old as shit—who is playing on the right side of the defense. I watch him guard the goalpost on corners, chase down opposing forwards who have gotten past the midfielders, and at one point knock the ball out of danger with a well-timed header. The boy is playing well, and playing his ass off. As I watch and record the events for posterity, I realize that I—the overtaxed parent—am also having a fucking blast. This doesn’t feel like a chore, this game. This feels like as precious a memory being forged for me as it is for him.
I once played on fields like this, under lights like this, on nights like this. I don’t idle my time at 50 trying to relive those nights over and over again; that way lies sadness. But I do enjoy the occasional reminder. This perfect evening happens to be one of them. I revel in the sheer fall-ness of it all. I scream my son’s name anytime he gets within 10 yards of the ball, much less touches it. I jump and cheer when his team scores a goal. I take a seat in the bleachers with my fellow soccer parents, and we all try to figure out the team’s playoff scenarios. Then I grab myself a hot chocolate. Truly, there is no place I’d rather be right now, even though I’ve already been here many times over.
Above all else, I can intuit how much my son is cherishing all of this. Like I said, he knows that his time in high school—his time being a kid—is nearing an end. That means no more varsity soccer games after this. No more starting nods. No more celebratory team bus rides home after a win on the road. He’s sopping up these memories with fabulous greed. He knows this team won’t be forever, but that’s what makes a night like this so indelible. I hope that one day, he gets to watch his own children play under these lights. I hope they give him a welcome reminder of what once was and, in some ways for him, what will always be. And I hope it doesn’t rain.
The Games
All games in the Jamboroo are evaluated for sheer watchability on a scale of 1 to 5 Throwgasms.
Five Throwgasms
Packers at Lions: America loved the Deshaun Watson rehabilitation tour a few weeks ago. Well, guess what? Now we get to do it all over again with returning Packers RB and accused batterer Josh Jacobs:
"I'm remorseful and sorry for putting this team in this situation," Jacobs said, his voice quivering. "Sometimes when you go through life, situations occur and a four-second, three-second decision can alter your life, honestly.”
So true. Some domestic violence incidents are just bang-bang plays, you know? Josh regrets being a shitty asshole for that ever-so-brief span of time. Just how sorry is he for getting suspended the first six games of the season?
"I think six games was a lot, honestly, but that's not really up to me to decide."
I think we can all agree this young man has learned the error of his ways. Prick.
In other news, this matchup kicks ass.
Patriots at Bears
Four Throwgasms
Chiefs at Seahawks: The other day, I’m stuck in line at the pharmacy, and the woman at the front of the line is taking an unreasonably long amount of time getting her refills. She takes so long that the line grows all the way down the bread aisle. We’re all pouting and muttering accordingly. Then an old lady waiting right in front of me turns to me and rolls her eyes. I roll mine back and we share a silent, but permanent, understanding: fuck that lady at the counter. There is no greater solidarity than that between people stuck in pharmacy line hell.
Three Throwgasms
Rams at Raiders: I’m too old now to have any “this makes me feel old” pop culture moments. I’m used to seeing players I used to watch have kids that I now watch, and I’m used to being told that one movie I like is now closer in years to World War II than to the present. Whatever, man. Time passes. I don’t give a shit.
HOWEVER, watching Deion Sanders pitching Depends on TV the other day got me pretty good. That was some real-life Krusty the Klown shit I saw. They even put Deion’s autograph on the packaging. A real collector’s item, that.
Bengals at Ravens
Two Throwgasms
Broncos at Cardinals: I bought some McCann’s steel cut oatmeal to make for breakfast the other day. I like this brand because it tastes good, but more importantly, it comes in a big tin can that makes me feel like I’m eating vital provisions from 1943. Anytime I get packaging where I have to pry the metal lid open, I feel like a safecracker. What a rush.
Giants at Texans: J.J. McCarthy is your new Giants starter. He plays just like Jameis Winston, minus the uncomfortable history of alleged sexual assault! Big upgrade for you guys.
Steelers at Saints (Paris): It’s worth noting here the Steelers never would have had to endure overtime with Tampa Bay last week if flabby genius Mike McCarthy had simply run the ball at the Bucs' goal line on Pittsburgh’s penultimate possession in regulation. Instead he called two passes (or Aaron Rodgers did, you can never tell with those two), which left just enough time on the clock for UDFA QB Jalon Daniels to drive for the game-tying field goal. One day, McCarthy will NOT be the first retread that middling teams turn to when they have no better ideas. I will be sad when that happens, because no head coach is more entertainingly stupid in big moments than this man. Even Dan Quinn is astounded at what a reliable idiot Mike McCarthy is.
Bucs at Panthers
49ers at Falcons
One Throwgasm
Cowboys at Eagles: In theory, it should be fun to watch the Dallas Cowboys get humiliated in primetime for the 50th consecutive week. In reality, it’s like being forced to watch a Zack Snyder remake of Secrets & Lies. And I haven’t even addressed the Eagles portion of this MNF tilt, because that entire roster should be placed in hospice for its own good.
Side note: Philly traded for Minnesota edge rusher Jonathan Greenard this offseason, then gave Greenard a much-deserved extension for big bucks. Greenard was arguably the Vikings’ best defensive player the two years he played with them. He currently has one tackle on the entire season. Sometimes, sometimes, Howie Roseman gets played.
(Full context: Minnesota used one of the third-rounders they got from Philly for Greenard to draft safety Jakobe Thomas, who has done nothing notable on the field thus far.)
Browns at Titans
Colts at Vikings
Dolphins at Jets
This Week On All Ball
Our gambling-free NFL podcast has really progressed in its development as the season has gone on. Arif and I are now able to progress quickly through our reads, work out of the pocket, and talk each other open. As a result, I no longer spend my nights like Larry Sanders, constantly distracted because I’m mulling over how better to improve my show. All Ball is now an ELITE podcast, if only because its co-hosts are such deeply attractive men.
Now, if you have some big football questions to ask us, just email us here every week, and we’ll get it going on.
Pregame Song That Makes Me Wanna Run Through A Goddamn Brick Wall
“Oceans Above, Stars Below,” by Triosphere. Ten seconds into this clip, and I was like, “Oh, these guys sound Scandinavian.” BULLSEYE. From Joe:
New metal that sounds like the good old metal.
The riffage is there, but one thing about Norse metal is that a lot of it has a symphonic element underneath that, in the wrong hands, can make the music sound cheesy instead of appropriately evil. You gotta make sure the rock sounds like rock, and not like a movie soundtrack. That’s my longwinded way of lauding Triosphere here for barely staying on the right side of the line. Also, loogit those guitars! Those are some wicked cool guitars!
Get In Shape With Dr. Cam Skattebo, A.S.U.!
“You can get blood clots from long periods of being inactive. Are you listening, Coach Harbaugh? You wanna kill Cam Skattebo by making him sit until his arteries tie themselves into knots? You want me to DIE, just like Jalen Hurts did?”
[an assistant frantically whispers in his ear]
“No, he’s not still alive. Saquon Barkley texted me personally to tell me that’s it all over. Lemme ask you this: Have you seen Jalen Hurts since this whole thing started? I rest my case. Nick Sirianni is a murderer, and now my coach might be one, too.”
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 2026 chopping block:
Jim Harbaugh*
Nick Sirianni*
Aaron Glenn
Shane Steichen******
Todd Bowles*
Robert Saleh
Dan Quinn*
Brian Schottenheimer*
Kevin Stefanski
Sean McVay
(*potential midseason firing)
I can barely keep track of which coaches are hellbent on getting shitcanned before Halloween. Shane Steichen just lost his idiot GM. Nick Sirianni nearly killed a guy. Dan Quinn doesn’t know what a fourth down is. Sean McVay is already asking Al Michaels if the Amazon booth stocks Celsius. Jim Harbaugh is just waiting for the NCAA to finally fold so that he can go back to an easier job. Robert Saleh has turned out to be a real fucking loon. And Todd Bowles … is he even still there? Is he alive? Shouldn’t someone poke Todd Bowles with a stick to see if he moves? Even college football doesn’t have this many dead ducks. This is horrible.
Gameday Cookin’ Corner
Reader Joe from Houston has a borrowed recipe for fish sauce chicken that … well fuck, any recipe that includes a cup of fish sauce is something I’m probably gonna make. Take it away, Joe.
This is what I call Fish Sauce Chicken a/k/a Grilled Herb-Marinated Chicken (as titled in Chris Shepherd's Cook Like a Local and as seen on Shepherd's menus). This one is always a big people pleaser. Smells great, looks awesome, tastes incredible. Relatively quick (except for the marination wait time). And since you make the sauce in a blender and grill it, there's not a lot of mess. I've done it with whole chicken, pieces, or even just wings. If you use pieces, it'll go even quicker. But whatever you want works. Also, the sauce/marinade is so fucking good that you should make 1.5x or 2x so you have some for dipping and other uses. The text below is from Cook Like a Local; and it's also all over the internet.
Ingredients
1 (3-pound) chicken or 3 pounds bone-in, skin-on chicken parts
1 cup fish sauce
1/4 cup honey
Juice of 4 limes, plus 2 limes cut into wedges, for garnish
10 garlic cloves
2 bunches scallions (about 12), trimmed
1 bunch cilantro, plus more, chopped, for garnish
2 jalapeños
1/4 cup vegetable oilDirections
1. Set the chicken breast-side down on a cutting board. Using kitchen shears or a cleaver, go up from the cavity of the chicken toward the neck, cutting on either side of the backbone to separate it from the ribs (save the backbone for your next batch of chicken stock). Turn the chicken over, place both your hands in the center of the breast plate, and press down hard until you hear the breastbone snap; the chicken should be flattened at this point.
2. Combine the fish sauce, honey, lime juice, garlic, scallions, cilantro, jalapeños, and oil in a blender. Puree to a smooth consistency. Put the chicken in a large resealable plastic bag and pour in the sauce. Refrigerate for at least 4 hours or overnight.
3. Prepare a medium-hot grill with a medium-low zone. If using coals, build the fire off to one side of the grill, giving you direct and indirect heat. Remove the chicken from the marinade, letting any excess drip away. Place the chicken, skin-side down, on the hotter side of the grill and cook for 5 minutes, being careful not to let it burn as the sugars from the honey start to caramelize. Using tongs, flip the chicken and move it to the cooler side; continue to cook until it reaches an internal temperature of 165°F, 35 to 40 minutes (flip it again about halfway through for even cooking). Transfer the chicken to a cutting board and let it rest for 10 minutes.
4. To carve the chicken, cut the wing portions from the breasts, cut the breasts into two pieces each, and separate the drumsticks and thighs. Top with cilantro and serve immediately with lime wedges.
NOTE: If you take a photo of your finished recipe, send that along with the instructions. Every recipe is better with a picture up top, but rights issues prevent me from grabbing photos on your behalf. So be sure to attach the porniest part of your food porn when you write in.
Gametime Cheap Beer Of The Week
Scumbag Cream Ale! Mmmm … love the taste of scumbag cream. From Cody:
Amidst the sea of IPAs and various barrel aged stouts and Belgian sours of the California, and specifically the SF Bay Area, beer scene lies the macabre themed Ghost Town brewing. They have been adorned with many awards for their fantastic beers in many categories. They also cater to a more common sort of beer drinker. I present to you Scumbag Cream Ale. While all their other offerings, and almost every other beer around, roll in at $7-8/pint (it was $6-7 last month, true, but also, sorry!), Scumbag is a much more palatable $3/pint. It's not perfect, but it is (relatively) cheap!
Love me an artisanal cheap beer, especially one that designs its label to look like a paper bag. This brewery knows its audience.
Gameday Movie Of The Week For Dolphins Fans
Nuremburg, which I couldn’t finish. Not because of its subject matter; I’ve withstood my fair share of movies about the Third Reich and its offenses. No, it’s because of Rami Malek, whom I normally consider a perfectly good actor, is conspicuously, inescapably awful in this film. I normally grade actors on a generous curve, but this is one of the worst performances I’ve ever seen.
The rest of the cast is right up my alley. Russell Crowe plays Holocaust architect Hermann Göring perfectly. In real life, I have met portly German men who are this exact blend of effusive and condescending. Michael Shannon, as he did in Death by Lightning, does some of his best work playing an extremely noble man who underestimates the evil in his midst. They even got Richard E. Grant to appear in this fucking thing! Nuremberg should have been a slam dunk.
But writer/director James Vanderbilt decided to essentially make the Nuremberg story into a Shondaland episode, with U.S. Army psychiatrist Douglas Kelley (Malek) acting as foil to Göring in an attempt to outwit him, much like Tom Cruise vs. Jack Nicholson in a A Few Good Men. The way Malek plays Kelley, you’d think his character was attempting to wring a confession out of a kid who stole a pack of cigarettes from the corner store, and not from one of history’s greatest monsters.
As a result, the stakes here feel nonexistent, which is fucking insane. This is Nuremberg, man. The drama is already baked into the story. But Malek is so weirdly hammy, and intent to give his character the personality of someone from 2006, that the lack of drama is all I could notice. Disregard this review at your choosing, given that I didn’t finish the movie in question. But I don’t regret bailing. A complete waste of a film. One star.
Gratuitous Simpsons Quote
“I'm not very political. I usually think people who vote are a bit ‘fruity.’ But for some reason, this Birch Barlow really speaks to me.”
Enjoy the games, everyone.
