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.
There’s a story about me from my days at Gawker Media that still gets told, which is strange because my old employer set an impossibly high bar for internal war stories. To be indoctrinated into Gawker lore, you usually had to either do a shitload of cocaine or get yourself sued.
All I did was take a nap.
One year, I was paying a visit to our Union Square office. By the time they buzzed me in, I’d already finished my work for the day back at the hotel. So I walked up the stairs and into the cold, barren office space and saw, in front of me, a series of fatass sectionals arranged around the common area. Couches and I went way back, so I was heartened to see an old, plushy friend so close to all of my old, animate friends. I said my hello to all my colleagues, took off my shoes, and then laid down on that bad boy for a nap. I’m quite skilled at napping, so it was easy for me to drift off while dozens of bloggers did their dirty sinful business around me.
The problem was that, since I worked remotely, many of these people had no idea who the fuck I was. So imagine their surprise at seeing some random asshole, with his shoes off, dozing away right in the middle of their workspace. In my naply reverie, I overheard their murmurs.
“There’s someone sleeping over there!”
“Oh, that’s just Drew.”
“Why the fuck did he come here just to nap?”
A fine question, and one that my old co-workers still jokingly ask. So I’ll answer it now: because I can’t sit down.
I’ve had three back surgeries in my lifetime, and when you have a bad back, chairs become your mortal enemy. A seated position puts all of your upper body weight directly atop the bottom of your spine, and bad spines don’t like that. I sit in restaurants and on planes capably, but discomfort sets in if I stay in that seat for too long. Many years ago, doctors ordered me to work while standing. If I had to take a break, I could either sit in a recliner or lie down on a couch. I was ordered to be lazy, which suited me well because I’d already been a happy sloth my entire life. I never sat in a plush chair when I was a teen. I lazed across it, as if I were a blanket draped over it. And whenever I saw a free couch—I don’t mean a free seat on the couch, I mean the whole couch—I plopped down on that fucker with such fearsome gravity that my mom had to issue a strict NO PLOPPING order to the entire household. I could lie down on couches, but only if I did so gently.
So I did. I lay down considerately on any open couch I could find: at home, at college, in furniture showrooms, at airports … everywhere save for the doctor’s office. One time we took my daughter on a college tour and I napped on an open couch in the welcome center. The whole family still gives me shit about it, but the joke’s on them, and you know why? Because I got to nap and they didn’t.
I could be more self-conscious about this. I could sit on a couch and endure the agony of looking proper for looking proper’s sake. But look outside. This world look proper to you? Fuck and no, it doesn’t. You do what you gotta do to get by, and what I have to do to get by is chill the fuck out, no matter where I am. I write so that I can pay the bills, but mostly so that I can chill when I’m finished. I work out so that I can chill without growing double chins on my boobs. And when I walk into any new space, like that coldass Gawker office, I case the joint for chilling opportunities. If this makes me look too cavalier or entitled, I politely explain to passersby that I have prescription to chill. I will not be chill-shamed, not by them or by you. I suffered for the right to chill, so I freely exercise (pun intended) it.
And I’ll be exercising it quite a bit this NFL offseason. I got a recliner on two floors of our house, plus a big sectional in the TV room, and my bed upstairs. I’ll avail myself of all those resting options, and often. I will complete my binge watch of Money Heist and then move on seamlessly to a new binge. I will lure the dog into my lap with cheese and then give him a vigorous tummy rub before we both conk out for a midday snooze. I will watch every basketball game that’s on TV while also playing Scrabble on my phone. I will eat Dorito crumbs from a cup (try it; it’s the way). I will pop a gummy and get trickfaced on overpriced near beer. And then another football season will arrive and I’ll do it all over again.
We’re long past the days when “couch potato” was a common epithet. If anything, not nearly enough of us are vegging out anymore. Instead we’re drinking awful smoothies and doing yoga in steam baths and checking our phones to see what new reason America has given us to fling ourselves off a mountain ledge. I’m all for being productive, but I also believe in balance, and the best way for me to achieve that balance is by kicking off my shoes and drifting off to chilltown whenever the mood strikes. If that’s the meanest story ever told about me, I can deal. You all can wake me up if my feet stink.
The Games
No games! Time to pack up the Jamboroo for now. This won’t stop me from consuming every last piece of NFL offseason content. I will inhale all of the free agency news, mock drafts, and trade speculation I can take in. Except for the Combine. Only freaks watch the Combine.
Super Bowl pick: 0-1
Overall: 6-7
Song For The Offseason
“Neanderthal,” by Bob Mould. AWWW SHIT NEW BOB! Bob hasn’t released new material since 2020, which had me worried that he had fallen ill and/or gotten trapped in a crevasse. Imagine my relief when I found out that he’s been spending all of that time laying down another round of sick riffs to blow my dick off! THE GAME IS MINE! This is the good shit right here.
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 2025 chopping block:
Zac Taylor
Brian Schottenheimer
Shane Steichen*
Mike McDaniel*
Brian Daboll*
Mike Tomlin
Brian Callahan
(* - potential midseason firing)
Fairly small list of initial candidates for next season, but I’m not concerned. More than one of the gentlemen not listed here WILL fuck up spectacularly, and it’ll be great!
Great Moments In Poop History
Reader Jeff sends in this story I call OPEN THE FLOODGATES:
Several years ago, my wife and I threw ourselves a pretty elaborate housewarming party. E-vites went out weeks in advance, a caterer was hired, and we even hired a college kid to serve as a lifeguard for our pool. Little did we know that, but two weeks prior to the party, I would need to pass not one but two decent-sized kidney stones.
If you’ve never experienced the joy of stones, they are every bit as bad as people tell you. Copious amounts of prescription pain killers are really the only way to make it through the process without being reduced to a blubbering manbaby. A common consequence of using opioids is constipation, so my meds had me more than just a little backed up.
I purchased some over the counter laxatives (including a suppository) while buying last minute supplies the morning of the party. By the time the first guests arrived, there had been no change in my status. Not really feeling much like drinking (or, of course, being social) I basically bounced around and made small talk while sipping water from my Solo cup. About two hours in, I had to vomit the water I had been drinking.
I was quite concerned something was seriously wrong, so I quietly snuck out of my own housewarming party, drove to urgent care (not exactly sure what I thought they were going to do for me) and was told I needed to go buy some magnesium citrate and an enema. I bought two of each, snuck back into the house, and locked myself in our bedroom. This would be my first unclogging adventure but my discomfort was so severe, I decided time was of the essence even though my house was full of people.
Just as I had gotten myself sideways on the bathroom floor, someone knocked on the bedroom door. It was my intoxicated wife, who was not aware of what was happening to me, loudly demanding money for the lifeguard. My wallet was still in the pair of shorts lying next to me on the floor. I pulled the cash out, climbed on my hands and knees, and slid the money under the door without saying a word. I returned to my work and fully completed the process. And then I waited. And waited. And waited.
Eventually, I gave up went back out to the party. At this point, I was delirious. Thankfully everyone was drunk enough that no one pushed me too hard for an explanation. After the last guest left, I repeated the earlier process of drinking the drinking and inserting the device. Fifteen minutes later, a week’s worth of every variation of shit imaginable came flowing out of me. I had to flush mid-shit. Twice.
I am now 46 years old. I have a good life. Been married for 20 years. Have two great kids. To this day though, I have never experienced the feeling of joy caused by that post-housewarming party evacuation.
I bet!
And Now Let’s Go Down To The Sideline And Check In With Charissa Thompson
“Drew, I saw Kevin Durant walk over to the Suns’ bench just now and he was VERY frustrated. He slammed his towel down on his chair and screamed at coach Mike Budenholzer, ‘You fucking penis! How the fuck did you win a chip, you doorknob?’ Then he took out a bread knife and sliced Budenholzer clean in half with it, which appeared to really wake up the Suns bench. We’ll have to see if KD’s bloodthirsty attack helps his team rally in time to make the play-in. Meanwhile, Suns officials have ruled Budenholzer's return as 'questionable' with a death injury. Back to you, Drew.”
Thank you, Charissa.
Cheap Beer Of The Offseason
Champagne Velvet! Thought Miller High Life was the champagne of beers, did you? WRONG! This beer has “champagne” right there in its name! And to that reader Oliver says HOORAY!
I saw this beer yesterday but didn't drink it, so it probably doesn't count, but I saw that you were out of submissions, SO YOU HAVE TO PUBLISH MY SHIT. Anyway, I didn't drink this beer not because I was celebrating Dryunary or whatever it is, but because I used to be a dreadful alcoholic. When I lived in Europe, I would swill from gigantic two-liter plastic jugs of beer. Turns out I had a drinking problem. Shocking, I know.
Anyway, I no longer live in cool Romania, but in fairly lame Ann Arbor. I saw this beer on the dusty shelves of my local liquor store. (I was there to buy non-alchie beer.) I officially declare Champagne Velvet to be the best beer name ever and if anyone has tried it, please discuss it in the comments and tell how delicious it is. Facts I learned from the official CV website:
1) Created in 1902 by the son of German immigrants.
2) "One of Indiana's most popular beers." (Um.)
3) It has "million dollar" flavor because "the beer was insured for a million dollars." Insured for what it doesn't say. Hopefully arson. Or regicide.
That is all. I have now been published twice in the beer thing. Immortality is mine.
Indeed it is. Move over, Patrick Mahomes! Anyway, this beer looks like it would eject my liver directly out of my torso. Tempting!
Offseason Movie Of The Week For Titans Fans
The original Solaris, directed by Russian master Andrey Tarkovsky as a kind of companion piece to Kubrick’s 2001. You can watch the entire movie, in proper resolution, using the YouTube link above. It’s not even piracy if you do! WOW.
If you only know Solaris by the 2002 Soderbergh/Clooney remake, you might be put off by the original movie’s … let’s say deliberate … pacing. Tarkovsky isn’t afraid to let the camera linger on rivergrass for minutes at a time. This would have bored me to death as a teenager, but I’m now a middle-aged fella with a lot of time on his hands and a deep appreciation of YouTubeTV’s zen channel. So I had the time, and I was rewarded for chilling with Tarkovsky for roughly three hours because the entire movie is trippy as balls, with a final shot that’s easily one of the coolest things I’ve ever seen in a flick. Four stars. I gotta stop handing out four stars so often, but that’s on me for only wanting to watch awesome shit.
Gratuitous Simpsons Quote
“What happened here?”
“Oh nothing, Marge. Just a little incident involving the BOGEYMAN!”
Enjoy the offseason, everyone. See you back here for the draft.
