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.
A while back, I got a request from the 13-year-old. The kid is already a burgeoning foodie. And even though foodie culture essentially died during the pandemic, I’m never gonna dissuade people, be they my kids or otherwise, from wanting to eat the good shit. We were having steak for dinner that night, and the boy wanted to up the stakes. So he asked me if I could make a green peppercorn sauce to go with the beef. I had never made this sauce. I wasn’t even sure we had the ingredients for it lying around. But kids don’t give a fuck about any of those roadblocks. When they want their green peppercorn steak sauce, they want it now.
So I googled around for a decent recipe. Every one that I found called for green peppercorns, in brine. I did not have green peppercorns in brine. The recipe also called for brandy. I didn’t have that, either. But it did call for beef broth and for cream, and we had both of those. We also had regular pepper. And a bottle of whiskey. Close enough.
I got to work in the kitchen, mixing up a roux with some butter and flour, stirring it around until it was nice and dark. Then I dumped a few glugs of the whiskey into the pan and watched it immediately sizzle and steam. A billowing whiskey fog floated to the ceiling, and it was very good. Then I added a shitload of salt and a shitload of ground pepper. Everyone in the family would have complained about whole peppercorns on their food, so I turned that pepper grinder until my labrum was string cheese. Then I added the broth and let it all reduce while I grilled a slab of flank steak outside. Once the meat was ready, I added the cream to the pan and then, and this was the key part, I tipped the carving board and let all of the drippings from the steak flow into the sauce. It wasn’t technically green peppercorn sauce, but that didn’t matter because it kicked major ass.
“Good?” I asked the boy. He nodded, because his mouth was full. No time for chitchat.
When we still had some of the sauce leftover after dinner, I stuck it in the freezer so I could use it as a starter for the next sauce, and the sauce after that, and that sauce after that. Right now there’s a small plastic Tupperware in our freezer with a swatch of masking tape labeled “STK SAUCE 11/9” affixed to it. There’s also a container of starter homemade chicken gravy right next to it. I am a saucier now. Bam.
I picked my daughter up from the airport the other night. She was originally due in around 7:30 p.m., but discovered an earlier flight that would get her in around 5:30 p.m. instead.
“It’s an extra $75 in change fees,” she texted.
“Put it on my tab,” I texted back. “Just get here.”
I had two practical justifications for this. The first one was that, if you know there’s an earlier flight leaving on time, you take it before your other flight can fuck you. The second one was, naturally, I wanted to pick her up earlier so that I could get back home and get my jollies on sooner. But those were superficial reasons. The real reason I wanted my daughter to take the earlier flight so I could be closer to her, sooner. The girl is a sophomore in college now, and she’s probably not going to live with us this coming summer. That means that she’s probably not going to live with us, long term, ever again. This is a good thing. The way raising kids is supposed to go. But it doesn’t mean I don’t miss them when they leave. Because I do. Terribly.
As did my own parents once my siblings and I left home. Whenever we, as adults, would visit our folks, they’d go all out. Big hugs and even bigger meals. If I had asked for green peppercorn steak sauce, they would have made it. Every time I pulled up their driveway, they’d come bounding out of the door, as happy as they’d ever been. They raised us knowing that we would leave home one day. But they always kept their own home ready anytime we came back. And we did. Every we time we visited—be it for Thanksgiving, Christmas, or just non-holiday reasons—my parents felt like their home was home again. And now, at the age of 49, I know that I’ll be chasing that exact same feeling for the rest of my own life. It’s worth it.
While my daughter and I drove back from the airport, my wife prepared some leftover steak (with the sauce, of course) while our 16-year-old son made the roast potatoes. The 13-year-old had made them earlier in the week, so I told the big one, “Why don’t you give the taters a shot this time?” HEY PRESTO! When my daughter and I arrived home, there was a fresh tray of expertly cooked roast potatoes waiting for us to eat, alongside the rest of our dinner. The 16-year-old isn’t as big into cooking as his brother is, but he’s quietly developing a knack for it. We all sat down to eat and my daughter basked in the hominess of it all.
“Real food,” she said with relief. We pay thousands of dollars for her meal plan at school, and that food is real enough, dammit. No matter. Real food, to this girl, was this food. That’s why the American Thanksgiving menu has proven so durable. It’s not because turkey is a delicacy. It’s because a turkey dinner is real food. Home food.
I never intended on becoming a happy homemaker. When I was growing up, housework was tedious bullshit reserved for girls. I hated doing dishes. I hated taking out the trash. I never did my own laundry. And I only liked cooking if I was cooking something for myself. I wanted to be rich so that I could hire butlers, cooks, nannies, and other helpers so that I would never have to sweat any of those chores ever again.
Fast forward a few decades and I’ve managed to cobble together a successful writing career for myself. And yet, I could write the greatest selling book of all time (still working on it), make a billion dollars, and invent cold fusion … and it still wouldn’t be as gratifying to me as making a steak sauce on spec. Or teaching my sons how to dice a potato and then roast it. Or even cleaning up all of that shit once the family has laid waste to it at the dinner table. I built my writing career while pulling double-duty as a stay-at-home father. It’s clichéd to say that the latter was the more rewarding job, but in a recidivist 21st century America, few men still understand how deeply true the sentiment is. They might say so at the top of their LinkedIn profile or whatever, but they don’t mean it. They’re too busy attempting to conquer a world that has proven forever unconquerable.
Not only has the work of homemaking been the most enjoyable labor I’ve ever done, but also the important labor I’ve ever done, and ever will do. My job is my work. My home is my life’s work. My parents made a home for me so that I’d learn how to make one for myself. Together with my wife, I did. Now, with every dish made and every airport pickup, our own kids are getting the same education. They’ll never learn anything more vital. And I never would have learned to make a green peppercorn sauce that has no green peppercorns in it of any kind.
So Happy Thanksgiving to all of you. Please come on into my home and make yourself comfortable. Eat. Drink. Express political opinions that I will politely ignore. Have yourself a boisterous time, and don’t worry if you make a mess. I’ll be here to spiff the place up afterwards. I’ll always be here, watching the games and happily awaiting your next visit.
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: Turns out that Jordan Love has been playing with a separated non-throwing shoulder lately. Last week, he had to hand the ball off on running plays with his right hand—awkward for any righthanded QB—to protect that shoulder. I’m not gonna use this space to indulge in my usual “Love is a fraud!” bullshit. I’m just gonna say that I have no idea how anyone takes a piss with a separated shoulder, much less play an entire football game. Whatever drugs they shoot into Jordan Love to make him go, I’d like a pallet of it.
By the way, this game is really good! I’m still not used to the Detroit Lions hosting a Thanksgiving game that’s appointment viewing. This is usually the nap game. Now it’s the game I’m gonna watch in the basement so that I can avoid small talk.
Four Throwgasms
Bears at Eagles (Friday): Yes, there’s a Black Friday game in case you’d forgotten. Also, while I will continue to defend the Tush Push from its adversaries, even I’m getting a little sick of the false start-kakke that play now induces. We’re gonna have to string some tripwires across the line of scrimmage to keep everyone in check.
Rams at Panthers: The Rams are the clear cut, no bullshit best team in the league right now. As such, we need to wrap Matthew Stafford inside of his own SleepNumber mattress so that no one can hurt him. Every other quarterback this season has either busted out or had their arm broken like a pretzel. I need some good football players left if I’m gonna make it through the dead of winter.
Three Throwgasms
Bills at Steelers: Let’s pay a quick tribute to Darnell Washington, America’s newest, fattest darling. Not only can our man catch passes, but he can also stiffarm the fuck out of any puny defender hoping to bring him to the ground. I’m glad Darnell shares a roster with Ironhead Heyward’s kid. That’s good football kismet.
Chiefs at Cowboys
Bengals at Ravens
Texans at Colts
Two Throwgasms
Vikings at Seahawks: Jaxon Smith-Njigba is currently on pace for the first 2,000-yard receiving season, and I hope he gets it. I hope he doesn’t reach the mark on Sunday. But given my team’s present situation, it’s not out of the question.
Giants at Patriots
Broncos at Commanders
Cardinals at Bucs
One Throwgasm
49ers at Browns: Let’s see how Shedeur Sanders is doing after beating a deceased Raiders team in his first ever start.
Do you remember when Steve Spurrier would run up the score in Commanders preseason games and then brag about it? This is the quarterbacking equivalent of that. My dog could beat the Raiders right now. Settle down, Lil Deion.
Saints at Dolphins: Taysom Hill attempted two passes last week. Both fell incomplete. He also ran the ball 10 times for 17 yards. Taysom Hill is 35 years old, and Sean Payton hasn’t been his head coach since Joseph Smith founded the LDS church. Thirty years from, Hill will still be running trick plays for New Orleans while a cryogenically frozen Mickey Loomis pays him $50 million in backloaded guarantees.
Raiders at Chargers
Jaguars at Titans
Falcons at Jets
Pregame Song That Makes Me Wanna Run Through A Goddamn Brick Wall
“Deathampethamine,” by Exodus! I only really know Exodus as the band Kirk Hammett played for before Metallica poached him away. But reader Jamie has been keeping close tabs on the former band ever since its inception. He now files this endorsement:
I have seen Exodus almost more than any other band (I've seen Maiden 14 times and Ghost 12, so Exodus are a distant third but WORTH IT). They bring a ferocious joy to metal that is unlike any other experience. If you can sustain your headbanging for the length of the song, well then you are younger than me (near 50). If I were a football player, I would wear myself out in the locker room on this song. Then I would suck oxygen on the bench like every game was at Mile High.
Okay these riffs are selling me. Metallica knew the right band to steal talent from.
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—FIRED!
Brian Daboll—FIRED!
Jonathan Gannon*
Pete Carroll*
Mike McDaniel
Zac Taylor
Kevin Stefanski
Dan Quinn
Raheem Morris
Sean McDermott
Kevin O’Connell
Todd Bowles
Nick Sirianni ;)
(* - potential midseason firing)
Waiting for Sean McDermott to be fired is like waiting for Trump to die.
Jim Harbaugh’s Says Grace!
“Dear Lord, our father in heaven. We are so thankful that you have blessed us with the sumptuous repast before us, including the lovely turkey that my darling Sarah has made for the occasion. I know my wife has made you proud, O Lord. And I know I’m proud of her for not only brining this turkey in a special electrolyte-infused solution that I drink to enhance my performance, but also for making my favorite ham-and-Jell-O salad as a side dish. Who has it better than I, God? No one.”
Great Moments In Poop History
Reader Chris sends in this story I call ALWAYS BE POOPING:
Just out of high school, I was working for a pyramid scheme selling promotional certificates door to door. On this fateful day, I was on a campaign for a local golf course, in the middle of winter.
The morning started just like any other. I went to the gas station to grab some breakfast tornados and a Mountain Dew, and then headed out to the neighborhood I’d be walking that day.
About halfway through my first round of the territory, I felt a serious rumble in my stomach. My ride wasn’t picking me up for another hour, and my bowels were not going to cooperate that long. After trying and failing to convince an elderly woman to let me use her bathroom (can’t blame her), I started to duck walk to the nearest gas station about a mile away. Ten steps in, I realized that this was a losing battle and I relieved myself in the middle of the street. A mound of shit slid down my right leg (thankfully I was wearing pajama pants under my suit), and splattered onto the pavement, freezing instantly.
Having no shame, and feeling five pounds lighter, I continued my route, and actually made sales at the next two houses I stopped at. When my carpool picked me up for lunch, I told them I stepped in some dog shit. I’m sure no one believed me, but they were nice enough not to question. All in all, after cleaning myself up, I ended up having one of my biggest sales days.
All of the life optimizers on TikTok are furiously taking notes right now. “You wanna double, even triple the money you’re making right now? This one move will have you in the fucking money.”
Brick Johnson’s Executive Proposal Of The Week
“Dad, I need the keys to the Mercedes for a food run … Because we don’t have all the shit I need for the challenge table tonight … I told you about the challenge table! You and Suzanne and all your cringe friends are gonna eat all of the usual crap at the big table. Meanwhile, my buddy Polish Tom and I are gonna set up a side table with gallons of milk, teaspoons of cinnamon, and whole sleeves of saltines. Plus a bucket in case anyone spews. It’s gonna be so frickin’ epic … Oh my God do you even WATCH YouTube? You know what? Don’t worry about it. I’ll just take my Cybes to the Whole Foods.”
Gametime Cheap Beer Of The Week
Pearl River, and it’s made from real pearls! Commenter Erwin Mueller's Backup gives us the backstory:
I'm currently traveling in Guangzhou, China. Had dry pot last night, and our server enthusiastically recommended the local draft beer. I'm always down for a local small brewery offering, so this is what I got: Pearl River draft. Of course, it's from a mega brewery.
The price was right, although the alcohol content was on the weak side at 3.2%abv. As for the taste, imagine a beer flavored seltzer and you'll be close. As always with Chinese beer, copious farting is a feature, not a bug.
Isn’t that a feature of any beer? I pride myself on my beer farts. Even the NA beer farts have a little extra tang to them.
Gameday Movie Of The Week For Titans Fans
The Drop. Would you like a heartwarming story about social media in the year of our lord, 2025? Well, here it is. My wife and I had just watched a direct-to-streaming thriller named Drop, which was fucking awful. You know how some studios are now making second-screen movies, i.e. movies you watch while also staring at your phone? Drop was one such movie. You will be dumber and unhappier for having watched it.
So I head over to Bluesky and tell everyone there, “Hey, this movie Drop is a real pile of shit.” And someone in the replies was like, “You mean The Drop, starring Tom Hardy and James Gandolfini?” Excuse me? There’s a movie starring those two? And it’s a seedy crime movie that was written by… (looks up the credits)… Dennis Lehane?! I must have been living on Mars in 2014 when this movie came out, because I never even knew it existed until this Bluesky friend told me. So I watched it the very next weekend. It was WAY better than the other Drop movie. Three stars. Social media isn’t all bad.
Gratuitous Simpsons Quote
“This is a place of business, not a peewee flophouse!”
Enjoy the games, everyone. Happy Turkey Day.
