Time for your weekly edition of the Defector Funbag. Got something on your mind? Email the Funbag. And buy Drew’s book, The Night The Lights Went Out, while you’re at it. Today, we're talking about America the brand, blocking wideouts, peanut butter jelly time, and more.
Your letters:
Mike:
My kid just turned six, and we’re thinking about a dog soon. We want to be responsible people and pick one out from the shelter, but most of my experience is with asshole dogs that come with a warning from their owners. "She's a spiteful monster who will scream at all hours of the day and then piss on the floor while staring at you right in the eyes so that you know she's doing it on purpose just to upset you," that sort of thing. But I know for a fact that this isn't the totality of Dog. But I'm very nervous about picking a dog out from the shelter, accordingly, as the odds don't seem stacked in my favor. What's the best way to pick out a Good Dog, and not just some other asshole I'll have to deal with for the next decade-plus of my life, giving excuses and warnings to other people when they have to watch it for a little bit?
Mike, there are no bad dogs, only bad owners.
+++EVERYONE READING HITS ME IN THE FACE WITH A BRICK+++
OK, it’s more complicated than that. We adopted our dog, Carter, from a no-kill shelter and needed years to refine him into the extremely chill dog he is today. My wife and I had a few basic parameters for picking out a dog (relatively small, cute, must like football), but mostly we left the background research on him and other shelter dogs to our daughter, who was 11 at the time. Compared to the other dogs at the shelter, Carter looked pretty chill.
Looks were deceiving. Carter arrived at our house confused, scared, and likely traumatized from past life events. This made him quick to freak out. He bit me, he bit my wife, he even bit a neighbor (they were very nice about it and didn’t have to be). I was embarrassed by the dog, and also angry at him. Carter gave me so much angst early on that I thought real hard about taking him back. I even wrote a GQ article about how I thought he was trying to kill me. My wife and I had to warn approaching friends/strangers that he could potentially bite them. Made me wanna die from embarrassment. But I couldn’t bring myself to take Carter back, because the kids loved him and so did I.
So my wife and I had to essentially do our background work on getting a dog after getting one. We leafed through illustrated dog guides during reading time, to sort out what mix of breeds Carter consisted of (mostly maltese), and what the general characteristics of those breeds were (in the case of malteses, a quick fuse). Then we got a trainer, which was expensive but worth it. The trainer told us, among other things, that Carter was a den animal who needed confined spaces to feel safe. Then he took us through a bunch of training exercises. We got the hang of it, and then Carter got the hang of us. You need time to learn the animal: to read its cues, anticipate its needs, and establish a routine that makes it feel comfortable at home. Meanwhile, the animal eats tape and learns your tendencies, too. It’s like raising a kid, if the kid could only shit outside instead of into a toilet. Your relationship evolves over time, which only deepens the love further. Carter is a good dog now, and I know exactly how he became one. It’s awesome.
This applies to pretty much any kind of dog. I know rescue dogs that took far less effort to train than Carter. I also know $2,500 artisanal breed dogs that are hell on earth. Same with kids—you can never really anticipate what your dog will be like until you’re living with it. Do all the homework beforehand that you like and you’ll still be caught off guard when she decides, at random, to bite your finger off. So you pay attention and then put in the work. If you, the grudging owner, are willing to do those two things, you’ll probably end up with a good dog eventually.
Or you can just skip all of that legwork and get a Lab.
Nick:
I manage a collection of social media accounts, which means I use Facebook's built-in calendar for scheduling posts. While doing this last week, I noticed that Facebook has a bunch of the holidays wrong. Palm Sunday on a Monday. Easter in March. Turns out they didn't update the dates, just moved everything from 2024 to 2025. What the fuck is happening here? Did Zuck fire the whole calendar team to save money for the metaverse? Did they let AI make the calendar this year? It confused me to the point I had to ask a coworker for help and to confirm that I was not hallucinating while at work.
Given that Facebook is the worst app in history, it makes perfect sense that they’d fuck up something this basic. I’m just surprised their calendar has seven days in the week and not an eighth column to account for Gormday.
There’s no sense in trying to figure out this particular mystery because it’s part of a broader trend of companies that have grown so big they don’t need to try anymore. Meta doesn’t try. Amazon doesn’t try. Apple kinda tried with its new VR headset and then skulked back to making the same phone they always make. These are companies that now live off of their own excess fat.
Just like America itself. You’re probably looking at all of the stories about Trusk shuttering entire agencies and laying off thousands of vital government workers and asking out loud, “What is the point of this? Who does this help?” But you’re thinking of our government as, you know, a government. That’s not how the current administration thinks of it. They are running this country like a business, even if it makes no sense to do so. In human terms, defunding the NIH is both cruel and monstrously counterproductive. But if you have Business Brain, it’s actually a brilliant move, because any overhead is waste and must be cut down to the bone. It doesn’t matter if that overhead pays for good shit like … oh, I dunno, curing cancer. Better to add to your profits by subtracting entire departments and hoping that customers are too lazy to care. Because in America, they probably are.
That’s the pervading mentality across all industries, and now it’s finally overtaken our public policy. You and I have been conditioned for this moment for decades now. Your favorite sports team’s best move last year was to cut that one expensive guy who sucks. You swept your house for excess clutter because Marie Kondo told you that you should only own 10 things. You walk into any retail space and the design is so sleek as to be nonexistent. Everything everywhere must be cut down and down and down until only the basics remain, because you don’t need any more than that. Especially if you want to make money.
That’s how you end up with Elonald attempting to run the largest government on Earth with a skeleton crew. Both men figure that America’s brand essence can paper over any of the losses. If we, as a country, don’t help anyone or make anything, that’s okay. We’re still America! Our customers still love us, and even the customers who hate us will keep on buying from us! Think of any Trump real estate property. The name on the property—TRUMP—comes first. Everything else is an afterthought. If they forget to install toilets in a Trump hotel, Trump doesn’t give a fuck. He just wants to be able to point out his limo and say, Look at my big beautiful building.
That’s his plan for all of us right now. We won’t be a country in the functional sense, we’ll just be a fucking flag decal that gets stuck to everything. A brand. An ad, for a product that will arrive in the mail missing fifty thousand parts.
Patrick:
While discussing other players or position groups to target, someone on our Bears fan group chat suggested that Ben Johnson is prioritizing, "a wide receiver who can block." This sidetracked the text for about a week. It struck half of the group as an absurd thing to target for a five-win team. How important is blocking in a wide receiver's skill set, and how many other needs should a team like the Bears fill before their priority is finding the next Hines Ward? PS Green Bay sucks.
First of all, I agree that Green Bay sucks. Secondly, let’s go back to the NFC title game in January and eat a little tape. Not much. Just a fun-size portion of tape, I swear.
If you recall, Saquon Barkley took a handoff 60 yards to the house on Philly’s first play from scrimmage that afternoon. Now watch the video of that play a few times over. Saquon is lined up as the single back. DeVonta Smith motions away from the strong side of the formation, bringing the cornerback with him. That leaves just Dallas Goedert and a tightly aligned A.J. Brown on the left side of the formation. At the snap of the ball, Brown seals off his man while both Goedert and tackle Jordan Mailata pull around him. It’s Goedert who makes the key outside block that allows Saquon to cut back inside and run all the way to the end zone, untouched. But neither Mailata nor Goedert can do their jobs on this play if Brown doesn’t do his.
That’s the cascade effect that a good blocking wideout can have on an offense. If your X can block well, you’ll have a better run game. If you have a better run game, you’ll have more success on early downs. If you have more success on early downs, your QB has a better chance to succeed on subsequent downs. Everything affects everything else, because that’s how football works.
This doesn’t preclude your ace blocking wideout from being good at the cool shit, too. After all, A.J. Brown is pretty fucking good at catching some deep balls. But if he can’t block for shit, then he’s only valuable on a certain number of plays. Same goes for any other wideout, even the best ones. So if new Bears head coach Ben Johnson, who knows how to run himself an offense, wants to make sure that his wideouts can stalk-block corners into the Gatorade cooler, he’s probably onto something. You want complete players at every position so that you can do more cool shit.
The question is whether or not talking about all of this with your buds is fun. Unless you are a brilliant football knower like me, it probably isn’t. In fact, the above two paragraphs probably bored the shit out of you. But it’s not much more fun to comb through all of the rosters and say to each other, “What about Brandin Cooks? I saw that guy score a touchdown once!”
HALFTIME!
Dan:
I just ate a PBJ for lunch. No special prep or ingredients, just smooth PB and grape jam. I find basic ass PBJs to be sufficiently delicious, but I'm wondering if there's a go-to Drew PBJ.
IT’S PEANUT BUTTER JELLY TIME! PEANUT BUTTER JELLY TIME! PEANUT BUTTER JELLY TIME!
I haven’t eaten a PB&J in decades. It’s possible that I burned out on them in college, because every dining hall at school had a PB&J bar. Never one to practice moderation, I would put a disgusting amount of PB&J on my PB&J. We’re talking a layer of peanut butter than was like an inch thick. I also ate Goober straight out of the jar when I was a little kid. But you can’t blame me for that. Goober is delicious. Fuck me, I’d love some of that right now. What was your question again?
Oh right, my favorite kind of PB&J. Even though I haven’t had one in ages, my preferences for that sandwich remain unchanged. I need white bread, one of the evil peanut butter brands like Skippy, and red jam. Not grape. And not jelly, because jelly spreads poorly. I want that lumpy-ass strawberry jam that has 78 grams of sugar per half teaspoon. That’s primo shit.
My children aren’t as basic. One of their go-to sandwiches for box lunch is almond butter, honey, and banana on wheat or multigrain. I’m a certified pervert for almond butter, so I don’t scream FUCKING HIPPIES at these kids for wanting the earthy-crunchy equivalent of a PB&J. But they’re missing out on some real diabetic pleasure by not eating the original. First you get the sugar, then you get the power, then you get the woman.
(NOTE: I don’t fuck with Uncrustables. That is the laziest-ass shit.)
Nick:
Popping a gummy is wonderful, but sometimes I badly want to fire up a bowl on the couch. I contend that it is ok to smoke weed in the house after the kids are in bed, but this makes my wife uncomfortable, possibly due to alarmist ideas about weed that we all learned from our boomer parents. I really want to sit there inhaling pot smoke while watching Once Upon A Time In the West, but I also respect my wife's current feelings on the matter. Is this worth arguing about, or should I just put on my jacket and go outside? Am I a HUGE dirtbag for wanting to rip bingers while my children are a'bed?
You’re not gonna win that fight with your wife. Unless you want dirty looks every single time you spark up inside, it’s not even worth winning it. Just take your bowl outside and smoke up in peace. Both of you will be happier for it.
I miss smoking flowers. My wife could smell a fart from Russia, so I couldn’t get away with smoking regular buds, even if I did so outside the house. I couldn’t even vape without her detecting the scent. And neither of us wanted me to consume directly in front of the kids, so gummies have served as a happy compromise since. I can’t live like a college dirtbag and keep a bowl lying around on the coffee table, but I can live with the current setup because it allows me to get jolly without judgment.
That said, I would kill to do bong hits instead. Not only are bong hits healthier (the nurse practitioner who re-upped my medical card said so!), but you get a better, smoother high. That’s not a habit I can start up right now, with our two sons still living in the house. But I’m a patient fellow. I got PLANS. Once all of the kids have fucked off to adulthood, I’m gonna start perusing for glassware*. Then I’m gonna find a love shack on the coast and spend my retirement ripping bong hits in front of the beach, watching my dog frolic in the sand. I can afford to play the long game here, and I will.
Then my wife will smell the smoke in my baja and I’ll have go to back to gummies all over again.
(*Everyone I’ve pitched this to thinks it’s a stupid idea, but my dream product is a bong pen. You fill the pen chamber with just a little bit of water, you load another chamber with a pre-packaged flower pouch, and BOOM. You got yourself a bong hit, without the fuss! WHO SAYS NO TO THIS IDEA?! HEY MAN WHY ARE YOU SMACKING YOURSELF ON THE FOREHEAD IN EXASPERATION? THIS IDEA COULD BE WORTH BILLIONS!!!)
Joe:
Back in the 1970's, my dad took my brother and me on day hikes in the Appalachian Mountains. Before every hike, we would sit at a picnic table and eat Vienna sausages and Sweet Sue Chicken and Dumplings right out of the can. Recently, Dad fell ill, so my brother and I got nostalgic and bought Sweet Sue (at Walmart, natch). The dumplings were great! And now, for the last few weeks, I have eaten all sorts of things straight out of the can, including classics like Sweet Sue, but also more modern offerings like Trader Joe's turkey chili. Do you, uh, eat food out of a can?
I haven’t since I was a child, when I’d sample cold Spaghetti-O’s out of the can before firing up the stove. Whenever my mom caught me doing this, she reacted with disgust. But I didn’t give a crap. I wanted my Spaghetti-O’s right now, dammit! That’s probably why I’ll still dig into a jar of marinara sauce with a spoon for a little pre-dinner snack. I don’t even have to be high to wanna! I just enjoy eating like a pig, I swear!
By the way, I have never eaten Vienna sausages, either from the can or on a plate. My whole life, I’ve walked by that shelf in the store and thought to myself, those look kinda good. Any canned meat product appeals to me, for reasons I cannot fathom. But I’ve never had the stones to actually buy those sausages. I may have no choice now that I’ve read this letter. Sweet Sue might be a harder sell on me, but Joe has nwittingly made a good case for them.
Murray:
As an enthused stoner and gummy devotee, how do your edible engagements affect your ability as a writer?
I never write while drunk or stoned. One time, while baked out of my mind, I wrote a whole character sketch for a TV pitch. I thought it was brilliant (uh oh), so much so that I sent it to my producer (No! No!!). I think you know what happened next. She was like, “Nah, this isn’t right.” Then I looked at the copy the next morning and I was like, “Yeah, this is dogshit.” That’s the danger of writing something when you’re not lucid. Your inner editor is asleep at the switch.
I do keep my notebook next to me during jolly time though. I always have my notebook next to me, but popping a gummy sometimes causes me to think up ideas or jokes I probably wouldn’t have dreamed up otherwise. Especially the jokes. Every time I’m sky high, the standup inside of me comes out and starts workshopping material. If I think of a one-liner in that period, I write it down in my chicken scratch and then go back to it in the morning. Some of the lines hold up, some of them … I guess I had to be there. It’s worth capturing every idea you think of, but you need a clear mind to discern the wheat from the chaff.
Simon:
How long does it take you to get comfortable when getting in position to lounge? 20-year-old me would plop in any position and be fine. 37-year-old me just took nearly a minute arranging my blanket coverage, head pillow, remote location, hoodie coverage, and perfect neck angle to watch the game. You asked us to email the stoned questions so this one's on you.
I have a system. When I punch out for the day, I get into my chair and cover myself with my blanket and (when he’s in the mood) my dog. I keep my notebook on the left armrest, my drink on the right armrest, and the TV remotes on the side table next to me. If I’m wearing a hoodie, I roll up the hood a little bit as a cushion. If I’m not wearing a hoodie, I roll up a smaller blanket for extra neck support. I’m very efficient with this setup and can go from zero to chill in less than a minute. THAT is when of the kids comes upstairs to complain that they need help logging into their Fortnite account, or the dog gives me the paws to let me know he has to go out for a piss. This is how "I just sat down!" became the official Dad quote of this household. When I get my beach shack, I will pare down all of these distractions. You watch. I will only keep the things that bring me joy!
Ben:
Drew, I saw a cover of SI with Doug Flutie and realized how much BRIGHTER footballs used in games used to be. Now they are almost black, thanks to all of the drowning in water and dousing in glue and other goop. Every NFL game should have fresh out of the box NFL footballs that were purchased by the refs at a local Dick’s or random sports store the morning of the game and the balls are NOT to be touched by either team until the game actually starts. You know I'm right on this.
Not so fast, amigo. Aside from designated K balls—these are fresh balls set aside exclusively for kickers and punters—you don’t want fresh balls out on the field. Game balls are pre-treated for a reason. Quarterbacks can get better grip/velocity on them, and receivers have a better feel for those balls when their hands make initial contact with them. That makes for smoother gameplay, which is better than sloppy gameplay. And this isn’t hockey. Everyone can see the football clearly on their TV, no matter how many times it’s been lacquered and/or illegally deflated.
Lastly, I have no interest in framing Doug Flutie’s time in the NFL as a better era of football. It wasn’t. Trust me. I remember.
Pete:
I have a student whose now deceased father lived in Canada. Anyway, he told me that at his old school, his cafeteria had poutine, every day. And he says that it was, in his words, “it was the good poutine shit.” What would have been your HS cafeteria food dream?
Given that my college dining hall also had a Cinnamon Toast Crunch dispenser to go with the PB&J bar (plus eggs griddled to order!), I sort of lived that dream already. But then I entered the workforce and found my real answer to this question. It was 2001 and I was a copywriter at Ogilvy in New York. I brought a turkey sandwich to work every day to save money. But once in a while, the agency cafeteria’s hot bar would feature a big hotel pan of shumai. It wasn’t the finest quality shumai in the world, but it was there, and available in mass quantities. So I would grab a clamshell container and fill that baby up with a truly alarming number of tiny dumplings. Damn near broke the scale at checkout. Then I’d take the dumplings back to my desk and my office would smell like soy sauce for a week and a half afterward. Mmmmmm all you can eat shumai.
Honorable mention goes to French toast sticks, which somehow taste better in a cafeteria than they do in any other setting.
Email of the week!
Tyler:
My kids are now two and three. They've long graduated from this little plastic-wheeled push-along walker that they used during the late cruising stage. But Kid Senior now loves to sprint laps inside the house with it, as fast as he can. The little plastic wheels make an unholy "vvrrrrRRRRRR" noise at that speed.
One recent night, Kid Senior is running laps around the house with this thing and hollering "yeeeeaaaa" at a pretty high volume as he goes. Standing the kitchen, I see him go by a couple times. Then on the third pass, I see him followed by a streak of light, Kid Junior (having escaped from bathtime prep) comes flying after him, wearing a t-shirt, socks, and that's all. Kid Junior tries to make a turn to exit the kitchen at full speed, but skids in the socks and does a thing that looks like sliding into second base, his head missing the corner of the kitchen island by maybe an inch. I had all of one third of a second to process this and game out a trip to the emergency room. Thank God Kid Junior’s head missed the island and we averted disaster.
Anyhoo, real pumped about the next few years.
My 12-year-old still runs around on top of the couch! It drives me fucking nuts!
